Outpost No 1 Apartments
by Nan00k
Summary: In a world where super humans exist, so do heroes and villains. Church just wants to escape his father's shadow and the horrors of Project Freelancer. Taking the chance, he heads to Blood Gulch City, not realizing the past he's fleeing isn't going to be that easy to shake. (SuperHeroAU. Part 1 of Blood Gulch City series.)
1. Chapter 1

_**Outpost #1 Apartments  
Part 1  
**_**Part of the Blood Gulch City series  
**By Nan00k

In a world where super humans exist, so do those claiming to be heroes. Church just wants to escape the hellish environment he endured growing up, so while running straight into the depths of Blood Gulch City wasn't the smartest move, it was likely his only choice. Too bad the ghosts he's dodging are far more persistent than he had feared as he settles into the Outpost #1 Apartments. [part of an overarching series. Superhero!AU. Read Author's notes.]

Basically, with this AU, you just need to know that super humans exist and several members of the canon cast possess powers, but a lot don't. Church is the Director's son and Project Freelancer is a government funded (but not maintained) super hero league with shady intentions. Some awful things happened and this is the aftermath.

This had been supposed to be a one-shot, BUT HEY, I don't seem to know when to stop writing about angsty Church. Whoops. I don't know how often I will update this series (I'm more devoted to my Rehabilitation arc right now), but part 2 of this installment should be here relatively soon.

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**Warnings**: past mentions of child verbal and physical abuse, past references to torture, foul language, alternative universe  
**Disclaimer**: _Red vs. Blue_ © Rooster Teeth Productions. I only write this mess.

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**Somewhere in the Western Part of the United States**

In the cradle of two mountain ranges in the middle of the country, Blood Gulch stood out like a sore, ugly, metal thumb. Skyscrapers, a sprawling suburban spread that led up to a cluster of intercity neighborhoods—it was a gray and somewhat dingy looking mess from the distance. It wasn't a metropolis, but thanks to the booming tech industry just a few hundred miles to the west in the nineties, it had managed to grow up into something. It was big, and big enough to disappear in, to become any other face in the crowd.

Church had chosen it for that reason—and the other simpler reason that it was close and he couldn't afford to go all the way out to New York. He only could scavenge enough for a train fare to reach Blood Gulch and he decided just a week prior that it couldn't have been any worse than anywhere else he could have aimed to go. He couldn't wait any longer. The window of opportunity had nearly closed. He took the risk, the plunge, and went for it.

The fact that it was Blood Gulch was only a matter of convenience.

Settling against the cushioned arm of his chair, Church kept his eyes on the window. He wasn't looking at the landscape that remained blurs of color for the last hour and a half. He was instead keeping an eye on reflections in the glass. He had chosen a seat by the doors that led to the next compartment—and he had chosen one of the middle compartments—and made sure that there weren't people around him. There was one guy facing the other way just diagonal from him, but he had been sleeping when Church got on back at Sidewinder stop.

If anyone else came into view, Church followed them in the reflection until they moved out of sight again so he could sneak a real look at them when it could have been clear to get a glimpse of their face. So far, it had only been the conductor, twice.

That was a good sign. It wasn't really enough to make him feel comfortable enough to sleep. He was exhausted, having been up since four AM that morning, but he refused to let himself relax. He could rest at Tucker's. For now, he had to be alert.

That was why when the guy by the doors snorted loudly and jerked awake, Church had flinched and immediately looked over at him. The older man grunted and rolled over the other way, going back to sleep. Church sighed, uncoiling slightly on the inside from that flight-or-fight tension.

_Keep it together_, he thought, settling back into his seat. Only one more hour and he'd be there.

He wished Tucker could have met him at the station, but Church had urged his friend not to, for various reasons. The first was that it was an inconvenience to Tucker, who had an early morning class, and the second was that Church had no idea how dangerous it would be to walk out into the open at that point.

He didn't even have a phone. He had enough change left over for a payphone, if he was desperate, but he hoped he could just ask for directions to Tucker's apartment right there at the station and walk straight there. Tucker told him it was a pretty basic path to follow and Church had kept the address tucked in his jacket pocket.

It was one of the few things he had taken with him. The rest only amounted to the clothes on his back, a baseball cap he had stolen from some random locker at the training grounds a week ago, and a bottle of water that was now half-empty. He hadn't even eaten breakfast that morning. It had been too terrifying to try to sneak food. He had spent the last week dreading getting caught just planning this; anything extra he could have done seemed like too big a risk for earning unwanted attention.

He didn't mind hunger. He had experienced it before, though in different ways. Once he was at Tucker's, he could get a meal and rest.

Until then, he kept his vigilance up and did everything he could to blend into the background on that quiet train.

His eyes trailed to the map on the wall across from him. He wished he had a live update of where they were. He guessed less than an hour now. He tried to picture what the layout of the station would be, but it was all so alien to him. Once, in a movie his brother had swindled in from one of his handlers, Church had seen a train station in New York. He wondered if it would be similar—

A flash of blue made him flinch again. Turning his head to the window, he saw the shape of someone standing in the walkway just feet from him. The hairs on his arms stood up and Church, against his better judgment, turned his head to look when he realized the figure wasn't moving away.

It was a huge dude.

Like fucking massive.

Church blinked several times as he took in the blue-clad giant just a scarce few feet from him. The guy had a bright head of blond hair, which was just a messy mop on his skull, and looked swamped in a blue hoodie. The jacket probably would have been a blanket on a scrawny dude like Church, even though Church was probably of average height comparatively. This stranger was standing just in front of the door, his attention not on Church at all.

He watched the giant boy—because, despite being six foot something, the dude was clearly younger than Church—fidget at the door. He kept glancing out the window for the conductor, or so it seemed.

Church frowned.

"You lost, kid?" he asked.

He hadn't meant for his voice to be that loud, but the carriage was dead quiet before, so even a whisper was jarring. The giant boy flinched and turned around quickly to look at Church. His eyes were wide, blue, and startled.

_No, definitely not one of Dad's_, Church thought wryly.

"Huh?" the boy asked. He suddenly jolted upright, his back ramrod straight and his tone forcefully loud. "Oh! No, not at all! I'm not lost! Being lost would be really, ah, silly."

Church arched an eyebrow.

"Right," he said, disinterested. He turned back to face the window. "Whatever."

If it wasn't someone he had to be worried about, he wasn't going to worry. He wasn't unused to strangers, since so many faces he met at the compound were gone the next day. He had little reason to try to talk to anyone nonchalantly on the way to Blood Gulch. He had even fewer reasons to bring attention to himself in any way.

Sighing, Church looked at the glass again. The blurs outside had turned brown again. They were still passing through the desert, it seemed.

_Creak._

Church froze at the sound of someone sitting down gently on the seat across from him. The seat had groaned in protest, since the train was far from the newest or best-built contraption. Church turned his head, wary now, and saw that the giant kid had taken a seat in the opposing set of seats.

The kid sat there, knees tucked up hilariously close to his chest as the guy did his best to fit into the seat. He was staring at Church.

"Can I help you?" Church finally asked, annoyed now.

"I'm Caboose," the boy said, without prompt or need. He was peering at Church was increased curiosity. "What's your name?"

Was that how normal kids acted? Church tried to get a read on the kid. He seemed normal—as in non-super-normal, not necessarily mentally-normal—and innocent enough. He didn't seem to be gunning for a fight or confrontation.

He could have been a spy. It was always a possibility. The Director was good at choosing people who seemed normal but were total psychos on the inside.

Deciding to trust his instinct, Church kept his gaze on the kid. "…Church," he offered.

The reaction he got was not what he expected.

Caboose's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Church? You are named after a church?"

Church blinked. "What? No. It's my last name—wait, why am I telling you anything?" he asked, mostly to himself. He scowled and waved his hand at the kid. "Go away."

He didn't do well with kids. The guy was built like a linebacker and was probably out of high school, too, but Church didn't have patience for idiots either. He settled back into his seat and glared out the window. He waited.

A full minute passed and he knew that Caboose was still sitting there. He seemed to be waiting for something, but didn't ask Church anything. It was annoying. Eyes narrowing further, Church did his best to keep quiet, too. If he ignored the stranger and acted like the asshole he was, it was sure to turn the other guy away.

Another full minute passed. And then another. Caboose didn't move. Church's eye was twitching as he did his best to hold back the next angry retort building up in his throat—

"I'm sorry, Church," Caboose said suddenly.

That…was enough to jolt Church out of his anger and turn to stare at the other young man, who was looking like a guilty puppy.

Church stared blankly at him, now baffled. "For what?"

"I lied," Caboose said. He bit at his lip, looking extremely concerned that Church would be upset with him. "I am lost."

_What the fuck?_ Church thought, his irritation now tinged with faint bemusement. Was this kid for real?

"Wow, lucky guess," he drawled. He settled back further into his seat, crossing his arms against his chest. "Go talk to one of the conductors."

Caboose fidgeted again. "Ummm." He made a strange sound, like he was clearing his throat. "Lost isn't really…"

Church glanced back at him, frowning. "Hmm?"

"I am getting lost on purpose," Caboose said, speaking quietly and in an oddly deliberate manner, like he as sharing an important secret. "Being lost makes it hard for me to find where I am, but it also makes it hard for other people to find out where I am. So, I am sort of glad I am lost."

Whatever sarcastic comment Church had built up in his head—a defense mechanism derived from years of an absence of exterior control of his own well being, Delta might say—faded quickly as he translated what Caboose had just said.

It took him a moment, staring blankly up at the kid, but Church broke, laughing a hollow puff of air out.

"…lost on purpose," he repeated. He looked out the window, chin tucked into his hand as he leaned on the ledge. "Huh."

It was a hell of a lot better sounding than running away or escaping or being a weak little bitch who couldn't put up with the crap life threw at him anymore.

He could relate to getting lost on purpose.

"Church?" Caboose asked, still oddly concerned, like he actually worried this stranger he had just met would think less of him. "I'm sorry I lied. I just didn't—"

It was almost hilarious. Church didn't laugh, however.

"I'm getting lost on purpose, too," he said, interrupting the kid as he looked back at him. He shrugged at Caboose's uncomprehending stare. "I have a friend in Blood Gulch. He's letting me stay at his place 'til I can get a job and my own place."

Caboose seemed surprised by that. "O-oh. That's…good?"

"Were you planning on going to Blood Gulch City?" Church asked, a little curious. "It's the next stop."

"Oh, no, I…I didn't plan on it…um." Caboose hesitated. "Is it nice there?"

Church snorted. "No. What, did you, like, just hand the ticket lady money and ask her to send you as far as you could go?" he asked. At Caboose's blank stare, he snorted again. "Jesus. You're the real deal, aren't you?"

"The real…what?" Caboose asked, utterly confused. It was too perfect to be faked or a trick.

"Jeez…" Church murmured, rubbing his tired eyes with his hand.

He didn't need to talk to anyone before getting to Blood Gulch. Church didn't make friends, for a variety of reasons. The only reason Tucker was still in his life was probably due to the fact the other man had been his lifeline for four years, even if they had never met in person. Chatting with strangers on the train was a bad idea. For a lot of reasons.

Still, Church couldn't not respond. Not when Caboose was looking at him like he actually gave a crap about what Church was saying. No one had ever looked at him like that before. He had never met someone that dumb either, however, and Church had met a lot of dumb people.

_Crazy coincidences_, he thought.

"What are you trying to get lost from?" Church asked, drawing one leg up to pull against his chest. The A/C on that train was too damn cold. "Parents?"

Caboose faltered again. "…yeah," he said, obviously uncomfortable. "Sort of."

Church's eyes went to the window again. "I get that."

Caboose kept fidgeting. "Are you…getting lost from your parents?" he asked, sounding more coherent than before.

Parents.

Cold green eyes, calculating and impassive, a removed but suffocating grip, invalidating words that jabbed and cut.

That was a parent.

Church gripped his leg tighter, feeling and fighting off that wave of panic that fluttered in his chest.

"My father," he said, trying to make it as disconnected from himself as possible.

Caboose seemed to get that. "Oh. Mine isn't very nice either," he admitted.

Church closed his eyes for the first time since waking up that morning. "Sucks, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," Caboose agreed. "It does."

They fell silent after that. The train car rocked ever so often as they went around curves on the track. Church closed his eyes again briefly and felt the whole world move around him in the darkness.

"Hey, Caboose?" he asked, opening his eyes.

The boy perked up when Church looked over at him. "Yeah?" he asked, still sitting there, all bright eyed and expectant.

"Want to get lost together?" Church asked.

Because… why the fuck not?

It took Caboose a full second to understand. A bright sheen of excitement and happiness that was too honest to be lies lit up Caboose's eyes. "Sure!" he said, as if that were the best news he had ever heard.

It was so stupid.

It was so stupid that Church couldn't help but smile back.

**0000**

Super heroes had existed for approximately fourteen months before the Meta Incident had burst that bubble.

There had always been vigilantes, but the idea of a cohesive super human team that fought crime together was an urban legend. "_Super heroes_" was a word that belonged in pop culture, not the front page of the _New York Times_. But things changed.

The Director had been so damn proud of his project. Church had watched it from its infancy, since, well, he was as involved as any other in it. Only, Church wasn't going out onto the field. His siblings were and so were their handlers.

Government sanctioned and armed with the best powers and the best fighters, Project Freelancer was the sort of hyped up PR-stunt people wanted to see. They had their fancy costumes—practically armor, complete overkill in Church's point of view—and their badass reputations. They had a fucking team, for God's sake. It was almost hilarious, if it weren't for the fact that they actually did work so well.

The public ate it up. The so-called-Freelancers were fucking solving crimes and saving lives and proving that supers were awesome as military and civilian assets. It was great for everyone, except maybe the people who were prejudiced against super humans.

_Their_ time to be happy came when the Meta showed up and decided to obliterate half of the fucking National Mall, taking Agent Carolina (and Iota and Eta) and Agent Maine (and Sigma) with it.

People weren't too happy about that.

Church had seen the downfall from multiple angles.

The Director's rage.

Theta's grief over the loss of their brothers and sisters.

Agent York's devastation over losing Carolina.

And then, the Break In happened.

That's when Delta and Theta had vanished.

That's when the whole Project was thrown into chaos.

That's when Agent Washington became the unlucky test subject of an unstable Director and Church had been forced to help make it worse.

That's when Church had gone to his computer in the days following his meltdown—after he saw them cart Washington off screaming and probably dead inside—after he had finally reached his breaking point—

And he called Tucker.

"_What's wrong?_" his friend had asked, taking in Church's entirety with wide eyes.

"I need to _leave_," Church had said, words punctuated by grief, pain, and what felt like the brink of madness.

And so, he did.

**0000**

**Blood Gulch City Station**

The station at Blood Gulch was even bigger than the one back at Sidewinder Central. Church had stopped at the bottom of the steps of the train car, his eyes huge and mouth suddenly dry as he stared out at the massive underground platform. There were hundreds of people. Loud, smelly, crowded.

His skin broke out in a cold sweat. He could hear himself drawing in shallow breaths as he continued to remain unable to move.

He tried to focus. He tried to spot the exit.

He couldn't move.

_You knew there would be this many people._

But there were so many.

_Snap out of it, you fucking pansy. Go. Just go._

He couldn't.

A hand closed over his shoulder.

"Wow, it's so big!" Caboose exclaimed, his voice thunderous compared to the murmuring crowds and distant radio playing overhead.

Church flinched, but that was barely enough to move his leadened body. Caboose didn't seem to notice his sick expression or prior paralysis. The kid was gazing around with open wonder at the station and its occupants.

"Come on, Church!" he said, still painfully loud. He pointed over at one of the kiosks by the far corner, where there were food vendors. "We should get a pretzel!"

"I don't have money," Church said. He managed to lift one hand and pulled at the neck of his hoody, which did nothing to alleviate the knot of panic that had reached a stagnant omnipresence in his chest. "I…I need to get upstairs. Outside."

"Oh," Caboose said, sounding disappointed. He moved and suddenly the blue of his jacket was right in Church's line of vision. When he looked up, Church saw Caboose was staring at him with concern. "Oh, Church, you look…bad."

He felt worse.

"I…" Church tried to swallow. His throat was so dry. "Anxiety. I can't…do crowds."

Caboose stared at him. For a moment, it seemed like he didn't understand what that word meant. "Oh."

A conductor was asking them to move. Church stepped away from the train and tried to breathe more steadily. His head felt lighter than it should have felt. He blinked twice, slowly.

Then, Caboose grabbed him by the inside of his elbow. Church couldn't react well enough to pull away. That only enabled Caboose to drag him like a child would a gangly doll. He had seen Theta do that enough times with his toys, before the Director had them taken away.

"Come on!" Caboose said, cheerful again. He marched onwards down the platform as if he knew exactly where to go. "I think I see stairs!"

Church didn't have the strength to drag his feet or resist. "Caboose…" he tried.

"Make way! Church is sick!" Caboose said, as people leapt out of their way. Caboose was sort of huge and speed-walking at that point. "Coming through!"

Church's brow were pinched. "Caboose…" he said, suddenly feeling confused.

Why was he doing this? Caboose was a moron. He probably didn't even know what anxiety was.

It was clear that he had picked up that Church was sick, however. The blue-clad moron had seemed just that: a moron. Delta probably would have gotten a rash from being so close to someone so unintelligent.

He reminded Church of Theta, almost. On their good days, at any rate. He would have expected that to make him want to shy away from Caboose, but instead… it was hard to hate someone who seemed to honestly want to help him. It flew in the face of everything Sigma had taught him about strangers and ordinary people.

_Altruism doesn't exist, little brother. People only do things because they want things in return. You should remember that._

_Seems like you never met Caboose, then, bro_, Church thought to his brother, almost hysterical as he tried to balance the cold panic with the irrational giddiness.

Caboose's sense of direction hadn't proved terrible. They got to the top of a set of stairs that smell absolutely terrible—maybe Sigma had been right about some things concerning the outside world—and Church had to fight the urge to cry when cold November air slapped him in the face. He gulped down the fresh air greedily. It didn't do much to loosen the knot in his chest, but it did wonders for his focus.

Standing to the side of the subway entrance, Church took several moments to get his shit together. Caboose waited, observant and still concerned, the whole time. Church leaned against the wall, closed his eyes, and counted to ten like Theta's too-nice handler (the big blond with the big nose who's kindness didn't extend further than their immediate group) had once told him to do.

"Thank you," he said, finally. He didn't say that to many people often. He decided Caboose deserved it.

"You're welcome!" Caboose said, smiling brightly when Church opened his eyes to look up at him. He tilted his head a little to the side. "Are you feeling better now?"

Rubbing at his chest as he gazed around the sidewalk slowly, Church gathered his bearings. "I will in a few minutes. Sorry for the hold up."

"It's not your fault if you are sick," Caboose said, frowning. "You can't help it if you don't feel good."

Church couldn't stop a sharp laugh from escaping him. He shook his head and lowered his arm. "Yeah. I guess not."

The Director would have said otherwise.

_You aren't well enough to handle the outside, Alpha. Don't make yourself weaker by pushing things you simply cannot do._

Like walking outside into a public space. Church felt the ball of tension in his gut prickle with something more akin to bitter anger.

_Fuck you, too, dad_, he thought.

Caboose waited patiently for him to say something else. Church could barely believe he had just found someone like that on the train. Caboose probably would have wandered the city aimlessly had Church not invited him along. A doofus like him wouldn't have lasted long.

In a way, Church felt a little relieved that, despite the reasons they came there in the first place, he and Caboose were inevitably helping each other out.

Maybe asking the kid to tag along was a good idea after all—

"Come on," he said, adjusting his backpack over his shoulder as he set his sights on a coffee shop on the corner. "Let's go find a map or at least ask for directions to Tucker's."

Caboose lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. "Treasure map? !" he gushed. "Awesome! Are we gonna find treasure now? !"

"What? N-no, what are you—," Church asked, but he nearly strangled himself as he cut the question off at the sight of Caboose hurling himself down the sidewalk with unrestrained "Caboose, don't run off! Jesus—!"

—or maybe not.

**0000**

Blood Gulch Outpost #1 Apartments were about as shitty as Church had envisioned them to be.

It was two streets down from what looked like an industrial office building and a series of weird shops that didn't really seem to sell anything of value at all. Tucker had sworn to Church that the neighborhood was quiet and safe, but it certainly didn't look anything like Church's mental image of a center city apartment complex.

The apartments were nothing more than a long, stout rectangle with dozens of windows that was dwarfed considerably by the two buildings it was sandwiched between. The one-way street it sat in front of didn't seem really busy either. The quiet was deafening after walking along that main avenue for so long.

"Is this where your friend lives?" Caboose asked, peering at the unimpressive building with a little less cheer than before. It was clearly bad if Caboose wasn't impressed by it.

"Yeah. I hope," Church murmured, glancing at the piece of paper he had brought with him. "He's in apartment number 314. I'm assuming third floor."

"I like cake better than pie, though," Caboose said.

Church turned and gave him a bewildered look. "_What_?"

No answers were forthcoming and Church had no patience to linger, considering he had just had to run after Caboose for nearly a block to keep the idiot from running into construction scaffolding on the sidewalk. They had thankfully been able to get directions from a waiter at the café and it only took them twenty minutes to reach Outpost #1 from the subway.

Sighing, Church led them to the unassuming entrance. It opened into a glass alcove that had another door that led into a carpeted hallway. There had been a buzzer on the main door, it seemed like, but the door wasn't locked. Busted then, Church thought. How encouraging.

He stopped dead three feet inside the main hallway when he noticed there was a tiny office window facing the door. There was a man sitting inside the office, thumbing through what looked like a National Geographic magazine. The moment the door shut behind Caboose, the man looked up and seemed immediately happy to see them.

"Howdy, boys!" the doorman said. He had long brown hair that was caught up in a neat ponytail and round-rimmed glasses pushing strands back on the top of his head. He beamed at them. "You kids don't look like some of ours. Can I help you?"

Why hadn't Tucker mentioned there was a doorman? Did they need to ring upstairs for him to give the OK for them to go up?

"Hi, yeah, we're just, um, meeting a friend here," Church said, feeling oddly exposed. "We're good."

"Are you sure? What's your friend's name?" the doorman asked, sounding honestly interested in helping them.

Church wasn't exactly keen on giving out where he was going to some random person. He couldn't trust anyone yet. "I already got the apartment number," he said quickly. He spotted the open binder sticking out from the office window ledge and hesitated. "Do—do you need me to sign something or…?"

The doorman chuckled. "Oh, go on ahead," he said, waving with both hands. He seemed like a nice guy. "The elevator's down for maintenance again, but the stairs are just down the hall. If you get lost, just come back and I'll help you kids find your way. Don't be shy now."

Nodding stiffly, Church wasn't sure how to respond to the friendliness. "Right…thanks," he said. He turned and motioned at Caboose. "Come on, let's go."

"Alrighty!"

They took an immediately right turn down the next hallway, since it looked like the left only led to a utility closet. Church reluctantly passed by the single gray elevator and pressed onwards down the purple-carpeted corridor. It seemed innocent enough. At least it was clean looking. At the end of the hallway, he could see a lit up sign that said "Emergency Exit/Stairs."

Church was disappointed when he realized that the apartments were not as quiet inside as they seemed to be on the outside.

There were a pack of what looked like college kids dressed in red and black sports memorabilia screaming loudly from their open door about mid-way down the hall. One was waving a giant red flag out the door, like the cheerleaders at a sports game Church had once watched on TV with York and Delta. At least that chick had been able to wave it in a seemingly precise manner. Church had to duck the crazy red guy with the flag as they passed by, nearly getting whacked in the head by it.

Down the hall, a pack of blue-clad college kids suddenly began to return the loud insults and jeers.

"All hail the glory of the Flag!" the crazy kid with the pointy death flag was yelling. "All hail!"

Church had never been more glad to reach the stairs. He had been worried Caboose wouldn't follow, since he had been watching the stupid kids yell at each other, but the moment the fire door shut behind them and cut off the yelling, Church let out a sigh of relief.

"What the fuck is wrong with this place? !" he demanded, having to use the railing to haul himself up.

"They all seem nice!" Caboose said, horrendously positive as usual when they reached the second floor landing and Church slammed the door open.

"Ugh. Sure," he said, rolling his eyes. "Where the hell is 314?"

He had asked that sarcastically. He had actually just wanted to look down the hallway of the second floor, to get a feel for what that floor would offer in terms of escape routes or potential hazards, before moving upwards to the third. Caboose missed the sarcasm, which wasn't really all that surprising.

"Uhhhh…" The giant kid pointed at a random door just opposite of the stairwell. "That one?"

"That's 202," Church said, irritation returning.

Caboose pointed to one further down the hall. "How about that one?"

"That's 205. Stop trying."

"…that one?"

"Caboose! We're on the wrong floor!"

Church almost screamed when he heard someone open the door diagonal from them and someone stuck their head out.

It took him a full second to realize it was just some random resident and not someone from Freelancer. The nerdy glasses and lanky build of this new red head would never have made it into the ranks.

"If you're looking for the three-hundreds, you guys are looking for Blue level, next one up," the ginger guy said, gesturing upwards. He apparently had heard them talking through the door.

Church hesitated. "Blue level?"

"Yeah. This is Red level. Or second floor. Don't ask," the red head said. He sighed. "Sarge color coded the floors when he bought the place, apparently. Don't ask about the first floor, though. That's Collegeville."

"You mean Zealot territory," another man said, leaning out next to the red head. His guy was shorter, fatter and had long black hair tied in a ponytail. He was shockingly brown next to the pale skin of the red head. "The land of way too many extreme college football fans if you catch them on a game night."

Church tried to digest all of that information. "I don't get it. There are only three floors. Why bother color-coding them? And why only two?" he asked, bewildered. This place made no sense.

"Yeah, and Sarge is kinda nuts," the fat guy said, scratching at his bare arm. "Army dude or something. Probably saw some shit in 'Nam."

"Or _maybe_ he just likes things organized," the red head said, snappish. He shook his head and looked back over at Church and Caboose. "Anyway, yeah, it's a small place, but it helps knowing where things are. You're probably going to be just around the corner upstairs."

"Yeah, isn't that Tucker's place?" Grif asked, turning to Simmons, before looking back at Caboose and Church. "I guess you're the ones he was talking about moving in with him to cover Jo-en-es moving out?"

They were assuming he was moving in, then. Church decided that was fair enough, though the whole building was beginning to weird him out. How much had Tucker told his neighbors?

"Yeah, I am," Church said, not exactly needing wanting to share too much information. He started to turn around. "Caboose, come on."

Caboose made a tsking sound of disapproval. "We didn't introduce ourselves! Mom always said to—"

"I don't care," Church said, impatient. He growled at Caboose's immediate look of disappointment. Turning he waved at the two strangers. "Hi, I'm Church. This idiot is—"

"Michael J. Caboose!" Caboose blurted out, which was good for Church, since he had never bothered to ask for his full name. "Hi! I like meeting new people."

"Dick Simmons," the red head said. He pointed at the guy next to him. "This fatass is Dexter Grif."

"Are you roommates?" Caboose asked, way too interested for Church's patience to last much longer.

"Yeah," Simmons said. He pointed next to them, at 205. "If you run into the guy next door, he's Donut. He'll probably go up to give you guys a housewarming gift or something later. He likes doing that for new residents."

"Donut?" Church repeated. What the hell kind of name was that?

"Er, Franklin Donut," Simmons said, making an odd face. "He's a nice guy, if only a little…colorful."

Church resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "This whole place seems 'colorful' if you ask me."

"It was nice meeting you!" Caboose said, waving as Church opened the stairway door again.

"Yeah, sure," Grif said, yawning. "Just watch out for Sarge on trash day. He likes to make it a hassle for you Blues."

"Why?" Church asked, pausing immediately. He didn't want trouble. He hoped Tucker would know how to avoid it.

"Who knows?" Grif said, shrugging. "I think ever since he hired Flowers, he really got into the idea of having two 'teams' here. And by teams, I mean floors two and three."

Church's eyes narrowed. "Who is Flowers?"

"Butch Flowers. He's a nice guy. He acts as the superintendent whenever Sarge isn't around," Simmons said. "He does check-in and handles the rent collection."

"Since Sarge is practically senile," Grif added.

"Oh. Great," Church said, scowling. So that had been the weird hippie guy at the door then. Donuts and Flowers. What a fucking place.

"Flowers is also mainly in charge of Blue floor problems, so you're lucky," Grif continued. "At least he gets stuff done and doesn't try to build a freaking robot to fix the problem instead of doing it himself in five minutes."

Simmons sent him a dirty look. Church considered what he had told them and decided he'd ask Tucker for more information later. He didn't want to waste more time out there in the open.

"Yeah, I guess I am lucky," he said. He pushed the door open completely and held it open. "Come on, Caboose."

"Bye, new friends!" Caboose called out as they headed up the stairs. His voice echoed loudly in the stairwell. "This is really nice, Church."

"Sure," Church said, sighing quietly. "I guess it is."

It certainly could have been worse.

**0000**

When he was eighteen, he tried to use the _I'm Eighteen _card to get out of his house. Tucker had told him, over Skype, that it could have worked. It worked for tons of people. Church hadn't been entirely certain it would for him, but he tried it.

All it got him was a blank stare. The Director hadn't even laughed or told him how stupid he had been. He never had to say those words anyway. The stare was enough. It crept through Church like it was a tangible thing, burrowing under his skin, making him shudder faintly.

The study had fallen so quiet, Church swore he could have heard his blood pumping through his heart. _Thump. Thump. Thump._

The Director just stared at him.

Church didn't have to hear him say anything. Without a word of his own, Church fled the room, went back to his room, and disconnected his computer for a week, as some sort of self-made punishment he also didn't need to hear the Director impart to him.

That trick could have worked on anyone else, Church realized. Tucker hadn't been wrong. Anyone over eighteen was free to be free, at least in their country.

But he wasn't just anyone.

If he had tried to go to the police, the Director could have told them about the myriad of mental problems he had. The anxiety and the panic attacks were debilitating. Of course Church had to stay inside. Of course the Director was his legal guardian. It was better he stay at home.

That's what they would have said, the conclusion they would have reached, because the Director had that sort of influence. He could have had Church locked away in some clinic or somewhere even worse, with just a few orders.

Of course the _I'm Eighteen_ card didn't work.

It was laughable in hindsight.

**0000**

**Apartment #314**

"What. The. Fuck."

Church stood in the threshold of the apartment and stared, unimpressed, into the face of his one and only friend.

"Hi, Tucker, it's great finally meeting you in person, too," he deadpanned. "It's been a long time coming. I'm getting teared up here at this warm welcome."

"Dude," Lavernius Tucker said, eyes still pinned to Caboose, who stood just beyond Church's shoulder. "Who the _fuck_ is _that_?"

Church blinked. Oh. Yeah. "Uhh, Caboose, this is Tucker," he said, awkwardly reaching around to gesture at both men, who were staring at each other with varying degrees of concern and curiosity. "Tucker, this is Caboose."

"What the fuck is a Caboose?" Tucker blurted out.

"That's me!" Caboose said, brightly.

Tucker stared at him.

And then turned to stare at Church, his eyes pinched.

"_Dude_," he said.

"Tucker, can we at least come in?" Church asked, impatient, tired, and emotionally drained. He gestured with his thumb at Caboose. "I promise, he's harmless."

Tucker did let them inside, which was a relief, since Church felt horrifically exposed just standing in the doorway and an otherwise quiet hallway. Caboose seemed interested in everything going on inside the living room; it was just as Church remembered from Tucker's different tours over the years via Skype. The couch was against the wall now, but that was about it.

"Don't break any of my shit," Tucker said, directly to Caboose before he rounded on Church.

He wasn't surprised when Tucker hauled him into the kitchen, where the one wall hid them from direct line of sight of Caboose.

"Man, you're half an hour late and you show up on my doorstep with a giant moose-man," Tucker snapped the moment they were in the kitchen. "What's the story?"

Church hadn't even thought about the time. Between his panic attack and getting waylaid by the weirdos downstairs, he wasn't surprised they were late. He felt a little guilty for Tucker's concern, since the other man probably had expected the worst.

"I…" Church began, glancing over at Caboose, who was intrigued by the posters Tucker had up on the walls in the living room. "I ran into him on the train. He was running away from home, too, apparently. I felt bad for the kid."

"Sooo, you what, invited him with you to _my_ apartment?" Tucker asked, annoyed. "Where you're _also_ a guest?"

"I'll be a roommate soon enough, man," Church said, feeling a little bitter at the implication. He hated the idea of being a freeloader. And Tucker had been the one to invite him, so fuck him if he was trying to guilt trip him now.

"And you brought some gigantor homeless kid with you?" Tucker asked, laughing bitterly. He shook his head, dreadlocks shaking from the gesture. "What is your damage, Church?"

Church glared. "Hey! I figured I could use the muscle, just in case."

That was the wrong thing to say. Tucker's eyes suddenly widened. "Wait, wait, wait," he began, wariness coming back like a flood. He glanced at Caboose quickly and then back at Church. He lowered his voice. "Is he a super? !"

"No," Church said, almost out of instinct. He paused. "I mean…maybe?" He blinked.

Holy shit. He hadn't even thought to ask.

"Hey, Caboose!" he called, turning back around.

Caboose was in mid-poke of the tallest music speaker in the corner of the room. "Yes?" he asked.

"Are you…" Church hesitated. "Do you have powers?"

"Powers?" Caboose repeated, sounding confused.

Tucker was less patient. "Are you a super?" he asked, over-enunciating each word.

You didn't just ask people that. It was rude in most circles. Church was used to supers pretty much being everywhere all the time, but they weren't entirely common out in the real world. Asking someone if they were super human was, well, risky, if asking proved to be something that ticked them off.

A glimmer of recognition thankfully entered Caboose's expression. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "No, no, I'm not. I really wanted to be one in fifth grade, though, so I pretended I did and I flew once."

Church felt like he was missing something. "…what?" he asked, beginning to not want to know.

"Oh, I jumped out of my window and I flew for a couple seconds. It was great."

_Jesus Christ._

"And then you came crashing back down because your basic human ass can't actually fly," Tucker concluded. He grinned back over at Church. "I take it back, Church, he's probably completely harmless like you said. Mentally challenged, sure, but I'm pretty convinced he's not one of your dad's lackies."

Caboose perked up, curious. "Church's dad?"

Panic jolted through Church. "_Tucker_! Shut up," he hissed. He waved his hand back over at Caboose. "It's nothing, Caboose. It's nothing."

At least they didn't have to worry about Caboose suddenly lighting shit on fire or breaking down walls with inhuman strength.

…Although it didn't seem impossible for him to be able to punch holes through them with just his ordinary human fists. Church had to count their blessings as they were.

Tucker grabbed a cup from a door-less cupboard over the sink. He took out a jug of water and filled it to the brim before handing it to Church, who accepted it gratefully.

"You okay, man?" Tucker asked, peering at him as Church gulped down the water. "No problems getting here?"

_Fuck_, that was just what he needed. Church drained the whole glass before setting it back down on the counter. He nodded.

"Aside from meeting Caboose and enjoying the madness downstairs," he said, shrugging. "It was pretty calm, I guess."

Tucker hesitated. "You didn't, you know…freak?"

Church bit at the inside of his cheek. "No panic attacks on the train," he admitted. He didn't want to mention the one in the station. It had been a minor one, anyway.

"That's good," Tucker said, seemingly happy with that.

"Yeah." Church glanced around, out towards the living room where Caboose was rummaging through DVDs. "Nice place. It's nicer in person."

Tucker laughed and then took his glass back to refill it. "Yeah, well, make yourself comfy," he said, joking.

He handed the glass back and Church took it. He didn't drink it right away, however. He stared at the liquid and peered at the weak reflection.

"Tucker?" he asked as Tucker went about pouring himself a glass.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

If Caboose deserved thanks for unexpected kindness, Tucker deserved it a lot more for what he had been doing for years—a _lot_ more.

Tucker just grinned.

"No problem, dude," he said. He lifted his own glass towards Church. "Welcome to Blood Gulch."

Church snorted and raised his. "Cheers," he said, clinking them together.

"Now," Tucker said, clapping his free hand onto Church's shoulder. "Let's show you the suite."

**0000**

When he met Tucker, he had been seventeen. It had been on some random chat website. Getting paired up to talk with strangers about nothing had been the dumbest and best idea Delta had ever given him. It was anonymous, so it was safe, and it was always at random, which granted him a little bit of surprise in an otherwise monotonous existence.

"Don't abuse this," Delta warned him, handing him a keycard to put in the desktop computer that Delta had also given him a year ago after what happened to Utah and everyone had had the actual decency to feel guilty around Church for once.

(The mere fact the Director had let him keep it showed that it really _had_ been a bad accident that time.)

Church accepted the card and said nothing, his eyes showing the irritated _No Fucking Shit_ he didn't have to say. His older brother merely arched an eyebrow and left his room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

He had spent five hours straight on the website, just surfing around. He hadn't known what to do at first with strangers. It took forever for the idea that "they can't see me" and "they have no idea who I am" to really sink in. He was skittish for a while, closing out multiple times from conversations with people who had just said "hi."

He had met Tucker halfway into the night. He was using some stupid username—ladiesman769—and tried to immediately figure out if Church was a woman that he could try to seduce. It had been hilarious to Church, since he couldn't fathom how you could seduce someone with text on a screen. He thought about dragging it out, by pretending to be a woman, but he didn't know how to do something like that. The only girls he knew were ones like South or Connie or Carolina, and they were not exactly normal girls. Even he knew that.

So, he was honest. Ladiesman769 had been decidedly disappointed with it and logged off, cycling through to get another user. Church just kept clicking onwards.

Two click-throughs later, Church met ladiesman769 again.

Both of them had been quite surprised and amused by this. For whatever reason, the freak coincidence gave them something to talk about. From there, it just… kept going.

They talked about absolutely nothing for fucking _hours_. Church had never laughed so hard in his life. He had never talked with anyone that long. Not even his siblings.

By the time he realized he had to log off to get some sleep, he had realized, with immediate terror, that he would not run into ladiesman769 for a third time. Thankfully, ladiesman769 appeared to understand the problem as well.

_Ladiesman769: dude u got an email?_

He didn't. He had no idea where to get one. He reluctantly admitted this and the other user had taken it as a joke.

_Ladiesman769: R u srs? Wow_

_LC_01: sorry for being new at this_

_Ladiesman769: well save my address n make one later_

He wound up doing just that, copying the email address into a separate file on the computer before reluctantly logging out. He had to go to Delta the next morning, sheepish and terrified his brother would rat him out to their father or even to his handler, York.

To his utter surprise, Delta didn't say anything to anyone. He helped Church set up an email address as well as an Instant Messaging service account, again with a strict warning of not to abuse it.

Church had no intention of abusing it.

For the first time, he had found something utterly unrelated to Project Freelancer and his family.

It was absolutely amazing.

Every other night, they wound up chatting about inane things. Church learned all about what public high school was like and what it was like to grow up in a big city like Blood Gulch. Church couldn't tell Tucker too much about his own life. Delta would never have allowed that much and Church knew he was keeping an eye on the conversations to make sure.

He kept it vague about where he was, who he was, and anything about his personal life. Tucker asked about family and Church only mentioned he had a really strict father and too many siblings. Tucker made jokes about him being in some crazy cult and Church had been forced to deny it. In reality, he had been tempted to just admit that Tucker wasn't too far off the mark.

He learned that ladiesman769 was actually named Lavernius Tucker who only went by his last name, who was a minor class super, and had dreams of being a secondary-language instructor.

He had a friend named Tucker.

Church had been happy with just emails and a handful of instant messaging every other day. It was a relief to go back to that after stressful days at the lab. It went on for well over three months before, inevitably, Tucker asked to chat with him over Skype.

Church had stared at his screen and the request for a solid minute, swamped in horror.

It wasn't a strange request. Tucker had been making jokes for weeks about how Church was probably some weird old guy who was only pretending to be some sickly recluse who lived with too many people and only had Tucker for company.

It wasn't unfair of him to ask that.

Church had only given him a maybe. He went to Delta the next evening, dreading and unhopeful.

"Can I have a webcam?" he asked, always feeling out of place whenever he visited Delta's personal lab. He poked at various wires sticking out from the piles of electrical appliances on the table.

"No," Delta said, his attention on the bright screen he was in front of. His hands never had to touch the keyboard or mouse, the show-off. "You have no need for one."

"It'd just be for chatting," Church tried to say.

Delta was unimpressed. "Why would you need a webcam for that? The Director will never allow it and you would risk too much of your already permitted freedoms by asking for it."

Church steeled himself.

"I made a friend," he said.

Delta froze in mid-motion, his one hand stretched out to grab a battery casing. Church fought the wave of panic rising up in him, trying not to think about the possibility of saying too much.

"A real one," he said, pressing onwards. "He has no idea who I am, but he's convinced I'm some forty-year old man from Ontario since I keep having to make excuses for him never hearing my voice or seeing my face."

Delta had unfrozen after a second or two and had retrieved the battery casing without a word. Church watched, still fighting that panic as the seconds turned into a full minute of uneasy silence.

"Delta…" he tried, gripping a fistful of wires.

"Don't touch the wires," Delta chided him. He paused, his head tilted to the one side. "I'll see what I can do."

Church chewed at the inside of his cheek. "…thanks."

"Hm."

Two days later, there wasn't a webcam on his desk when he stumbled into his bedroom, but there was a headset with a microphone. Church stared at it, surprised and a little wary, but there didn't seem to be metaphorical strings attached to the offering. It was a compromise and likely a test; if Church could handle a mic responsibly, Delta would see about pushing his own luck by getting him a camera.

Church took the mic. He didn't say "thank you" again, even when he ran into Delta later, and Delta never made a fuss about it. They didn't do things that way.

It took him nearly an hour to figure out how to get the computer to pick up his voice on the mic. He fumbled like an idiot while Tucker's voice—a real voice, higher than Church had expected and full of mocking expletives—filtered in through the headphones. Finally, he hit the right button (he refused to go get Delta to help him, since Delta was probably already observing from a distance and laughing at him) and he was suddenly talking to another boy he had never met in person.

"_Yo, asshole, about time_," Tucker said, loud and full of teasing humor. It sent a chill down Church's spine. "_You'd think a neck-beard who lived at home would have a freaking mic already and know how to use it_."

"Ha ha, dick," Church shot back, giddy and reckless. He grinned at the screen. "Nice to hear your voice, too."

They talked every day. Sometimes it was just the text, but more often it was voice chat. It was a distraction that lured Church back up to his room after dinner or after sessions in the labs. A day that had been shitty was somehow a lot easier to handle once he could just… vent to someone. He never went into details. He didn't dare. But Tucker listened. For whatever reason, he listened and gave advice to Church's vague descriptions of problems or concerns he had. Like an actual friend.

For the first time, Church had been happy. Honestly, truly happy.

He didn't get the camera for another year. Delta had wordlessly left it for him on his desk again and Church didn't question it. Tucker had turned out looking exactly how Church pictured him—dreads, easy grin, skin as dark as the Counselor's but not as greasy—and Tucker complained at Church looked nothing like what he had pictured for him.

"_No neck-beard? Disappointing_," the young man on the screen told Church. He was wearing a teal colored t-shirt and was lounging on a dark couch. "_But I'm glad you're not a pedophile from Ontario, by the way._"

"I'm so glad you were disappointed on both counts," Church replied dryly. He scratched his chin, which was always shaved because he refused to look anything like the Director if he had a choice in the matter. "Nice ponytail. It's very emasculating."

"_The fuck does that mean?_"

"Look it up in the dictionary, moron."

"_Hey, I just got into fucking college, bro, I don't need dictionaries anymore_."

"Yeah, still trying to figure out how you managed that." Church settled in his chair, crossing his arms, and he grinned. "For once I might believe your story that you slept with someone. All the way into admissions."

Tucker was grinning, too. "_Hey! Asshole, I happened to work really freaking hard last semester…_"

They talked every week. Church didn't dare risk long face-to-face conversations, in case someone other than Delta check in on him. He had to imagine the Director knew—because the Director always knew—that he was talking to Tucker, but as time went on, it was clear that no one thought it was a breech of security. They let him have his one friend.

It was a comfort. But it was also terrifying. A good thing to have was a good thing that risked being taken away at a moment's notice. Church had learned that system a long time ago.

Tucker never asked about his home life, or at least, not directly. He was smart, however. He wasn't smart like Delta, but he was crafty and aware, like York was. Church had always liked York, like when the older man would sneak him movies and before Carolina had caught on and made him stop. Seeing the similar judging look in Tucker's eyes had given Church pause, because York was clever. Tucker was clever, too.

He must have known something was wrong. That was why he kept asking about college or future plans or what Church planned on doing "once he moved out." There was no easy way to just tell Tucker the truth. It did come out, in pieces and vague statements. Church was grateful he never had to come out and say it word for word. Tucker watched, listened, and learned.

Every day something bad had happened, and it must have shown on Church's face, Tucker's gaze would darken and he listened with thinned lips, face drawn tight with an emotion Church wasn't used to seeing. He never asked what happened. He just listened and then nodded and told him, "I'm sorry, dude." And that was enough.

It helped. It really did. It was what kept Church sane all those years. He didn't have other friends. His siblings were either monsters or kept at a distance by his own father. He didn't have anyone else.

Somewhere along the lines, Church realized he should have been grateful for Delta. He knew that the webcam was a secret. Delta had taken a risk for him. Church had tried to understand on his own, but one day, he went back to Delta's lab space to find him.

"Why did you give me the camera?" he finally asked.

"Because I have never seen you smile like that before," Delta replied, without missing a beat.

Church blinked.

"Oh," he said, words failing him.

Delta kept tinkering with his project, never looking up at him. "Do not think that everyone here is ignorant to what you want, Alpha," he said, words both soothing and upsetting to hear. "Some of us do care, in our own ways."

Church winced. "Don't call me that." Not there. Not when they were away from the labs and the Director and prying eyes.

Pausing, Delta did look up at him that time. "It is your name," he said, almost as a question.

He never did seem to get it. Neither did Theta or Gamma. Omega and Sigma… they understood, but chose to rub it in his face anyway.

"My name is Leonard," Church said, steeling himself. "Or just Church. One of those."

Delta stared at him. "…of course," he said. He turned back to his work. "Forgive me, Church."

"It's fine." Church took a deep breath and moved away, going to leave. "Thanks for the stuff, Delta."

"Use it wisely," Delta said as a way of farewell. He didn't look up again.

Church had scoffed at his comment and walked off. It had felt foolish at the time to need to be told that.

He did, in the end, use it wisely.

Six months after hearing those words, the Meta Incident happened and Delta left.

Six months after that, in the middle of his worst panic attack ever, Tucker told him to leave to come to Blood Gulch.

And six months after _that_, Church did.

**0000**

**Sheila's Scrap**

He didn't have a lot of skills outside of a laboratory and attached to machinery that never failed to make his skin feel like it was melting off. He was a spectacular nobody when people weren't aware of his power or his relation to the Director. He enjoyed any bit of anonymity he had back at Sidewinder, where he could have curled up with a book in the back of the newbie training rooms, where recruits thought he was just some random guy on break. He was scrawny and didn't do much besides play video games, talk to Tucker, or beg Delta to sneak him into movie night with his handler.

But he was good at one thing.

Two days after settling into Tucker's guest room (and getting used to Caboose snoring from the air mattress on the floor next to the bed), which used to be shared with an ex-college roommate who had moved out a month ago, Church had gone to the mechanic Tucker had recommended him to. They had left Caboose in Simmons and Grif's tender care before setting out.

"Are you sure you can work on cars?" Tucker asked, as he walked Church five blocks north and then they took a short bus ride down a busy street. They were probably dead center in the city. It felt like they were in a freaking canyon of skyscrapers. "Like, I've never heard you ever say you could do anything with cars before."

Church tugged at his collar, feeling a little more than nervous at the idea of a job interview when he had probably had about as much experience with it as a fourth grader did.

"I tinkered," he said, distracted.

"I thought you weren't allowed to go near cars?"

"_Jesus_, Tucker, just trust me that I can do this!"

Tucker had waited outside the mechanic's garage—_Sheila's Scrap_—and Church had been startled to learn that the person in charge was a pretty and petite looking woman named Sheila. Church was used to deadly tiny women, however, so he didn't question it much, just in case.

"Have you ever worked with cars before, Church?" Sheila asked, pleasant. She sounded so familiar, but he decided it was just coincidence.

"Yeah, totally," he said. "I, uh, even worked on a tank once. Yeah."

Sheila smiled, a little confused. "Well, we do not have tanks coming in here often," she said. "Did you use to be in the military, then?"

"Uhh, no. My dad, uh, was," Church said, struggling to drop the conversation. He pointed at the jeep in front of him. "So, uh, what do you want me to, uh, do?"

"I would like you to get the vehicle up and running again," she said. She motioned at the bench next to the jeep. It was covered in different tools; Church barely recognized any of them. "Tucker said that because you lack the resume experience, you could instead demonstrate you have the hands-on knowledge. I thought that was fair enough."

"Uh, yeah, sure," Church said, trying not to panic because _fuck_, he hated tests where he was the one being judged. "Um, thanks, by the way, for uh, taking his word for it."

"Oh, of course. Tucker is an old friend," Sheila said, still smiling. "I am happy to help a friend of a friend get back up on his feet."

Church hesitated. The smile was enough to disarm most of the building pressure in his gut.

"Right." He turned back to the jeep. "Okay. I can do this. Easy enough."

He walked over to the hood of the jeep, where it was propped open. He stared into the mess of engine, pipes, and wires. It was as alien to him as the inside of any computer.

Sheila waited by the end of the worktable. Church cleared his throat lightly.

"Um, could I just work on this by myself for a second?" he asked. "I, uh, I get a little nervous under pressure."

"Oh, certainly," Sheila said. She stepped to the side, motioning at her office. "I'll be inside. Please come get me when you're finished."

"Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Ms. Sheila."

"Oh, Sheila is just fine."

She walked off. Church looked back at the hood again. It still looked completely foreign to him.

Sighing, Church raised his hand over the engine.

"Easy enough," he murmured.

He purposely waited at least fifteen minutes, tapping here and there with a wrench to make it sound like he was working, before he took the keys from the table and deliberately turned the jeep over twice. It ran as smooth as it ever had. Sheila had come out at the noise and seemed impressed.

"My, you got done much sooner than I thought!" she said. She clasped her hands together. "Tucker certainly didn't embellish."

"Glad I lived up to the expectations," Church said, sheepish.

Sheila smiled at him. "Would you like to work for me, Church? I can offer you a little more than minimum wage right now while you work under my husband for a while. We can see about a raise once you get a few more months experience. Is that acceptable?"

That sounded fucking marvelous.

"That sounds great," Church said, grinning boldly.

He signed a bunch of papers—but probably less than normal, since he didn't have his social security number (as if the Director would have left that lying around) or any other proof of identification. Sheila was sympathetic, however, and helped him understand the contract.

Since he couldn't provide a SSN, he'd have to be paid under the table. It was a small mercy that Sheila, despite seeming like a weird version of an overly caring mom in movies, didn't seem to mind shady workers. As long as he could do that job, he was fine by her.

Church was practically floating on air by the time he got outside and walked up to Tucker, who was sitting on the bench where Church had left him.

"I got the job," he said, deciding to be a smug as possible, if only to spite his friend. "How about that, asshole?"

Tucker sputtered as he stood up. "How? ! Sheila's so picky about mechanics."

"I picked some things up from my brother," Church said, shrugging. "He's good with tech."

"Tech does not equal cars," Tucker said, eyebrow going up.

"It's close enough," Church insisted.

"I'm calling bullshit," Tucker said. He suddenly gasped and dropped his voice down in a conspiratorial manner. "Dude…did you use your power?"

Church flinched as if he had been hit.

_Fuck_, he thought.

"Be quiet," he said, eyes darting around nervously. No one seemed to be paying them any attention.

"Oh, come on. You said you'd tell me what it was when you got here."

"Tucker, let's just go," Church said, impatient and nervous. He pushed past the other man. "I'm fucking starving. I'll pay you back for food later."

"Duuude, come on. I've been dying to find out for years!" Tucker whined, louder.

"Tucker!" Church shouted, causing the other man to leap back in surprise.

Turning around, Church looked up and down the street. No one was nearby. That didn't mean shit, however. He didn't even trust their secrecy back at Outpost #1.

Lips drawn tight, Church turned back to face Tucker.

"I can't tell you," he said lowly, making sure Tucker was paying attention o every word he said and what he didn't have to say. "Because I'm not entirely sure if doing so would get you killed."

Because if anything, he knew with startling clarity just how vindictive and paranoid the Director was about everything in life. This would be no exception.

Tucker stared back, against surprised. Realization was sharp in his eyes,

"Oh," he said, quiet.

"Yeah," Church said, curling his fists tightly in his front pocket. "_Oh_."

Tucker recovered quickly enough, though he did have the decency to look a little sheepish. "Well, thanks for that?" he said. He laughed, shaking his head. "Man, you are such a Negative Nancy."

"Shut up. Get me food."

"Also a whiny bitch. But that's nothing new."

And with that, he suddenly had the start of a new life.

Suddenly, for the first time in his whole existence, things were looking up.

.

* * *

**End **_**Part 1**_**.**

* * *

.

In the next and last installment of "_Outpost #1 Apartments_," Church runs into an old friend and learns that, maybe, he hasn't been as successful leaving the past behind as he had hoped.

**A/Ns**:  
-"I like cake better than pie though." Caboose is reacting to the number 314, or 3.14, the beginning of the number of Pi. I like to imagine he has absolutely useless knowledge of very strange things that are out of context to anyone else, because that's just how Caboose works.  
-"minor class super" – referencing a super human who is categorized as having a lower amount of power than a major class super human. They're just not as strong and/or can't use their power for very long.  
-There are a lot of things to be revealed over the course of the series, such as Utah and why Church is a younger brother to Delta and why Church was held up under the Director's thumb for so long. None of it is really that pleasant.  
-Church and Tucker's friendship is important to me. And so is Caboose and Church's friendship. Blue Team broship all the way, man.  
-Sheila is going to be different than FILSS in this, just because I miss Sheila being Sheila.  
-What is Church's power(s)? We'll find out next time.  
-Srsly tho, more powers are coming up. Ahaha sorry for like no mention of them in this chapter. Yes, several of the Blood Gulch crew have powers, including Tucker.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Outpost #1 Apartments  
**_**Part 2  
**By Nan00k

As Church settles into his new life (and tries to forget about his old one), he realizes that someone has followed him to Blood Gulch. This may or may not be a bad thing.

Goddamn it. BELIEVE IT OR NOT, I actually had to split this part up too, despite it being even longer than the first part. **We're up to THREE parts now** and that's it, I swear to god. Final part should be coming soon. Sighhh. I'm really bad at this short and concise thing, guys.

Yo, sexy times, tho? You crazy teens…

.

* * *

**Warnings**: **this chapter has ****described sexual content** (kept vague to keep the rating down) between two teenagers, past mentions of child verbal and physical abuse, past references to torture, foul language, alternative universe  
**Disclaimer**: _Red vs. Blue_ © Rooster Teeth Productions. I only write this mess.

* * *

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**Mother of Invention Research Labs, Eight Years Ago**

"I can't do it."

There were a lot of things he couldn't just blurt out in front of the Director. That specific sort of admitted weakness was probably up there in terms of things that would get him in trouble.

Hanging off the side of the platform, Church stared down at his father and the Counselor, who had paused over their quiet analysis of the latest readouts. The Freelancer who had stumbled away from the Engineer was helped down by a lab tech to get something to drink. Church was left to curl up by the railing and wait for the Director to signal another attempt. There was always another one, especially if the results of the last weren't up to his standards.

"What do you mean, Alpha?" the Director asked, peering up at him. His glasses made it hard to see his eyes.

Church was even more exhausted by the realization he wasn't going to be able to get out of this. He tried anyway. "I can't do this, Director," he said. He drew in on himself. "I'm _tired_."

His head was pounding and he felt a little sick. It had been at least three hours and he doubted they'd stop any time soon. The Freelancer he was supposed to be working on wasn't responding well and that only made Church's head hurt from the recoil.

"Your performance, Alpha, is barely up to your usual ability," the Counselor said, frowning. "Do you feel ill?"

Ill meant being stuck in the infirmary and getting poked at. "No, I'm just tired," Church said, unable to keep the pleading out of his voice. He looked at his father. "I can't just keep doing this."

"Yes, you can," the Director said, without any hesitation whatsoever. He frowned deeply. "Alpha, this can be done by no other and many are counting on you."

Church grimaced. "But dad—"

"Try it again," the Director ordered. He crossed his arms without any rush. He always had absolute control. "Or would you rather risk your siblings' well-being out there when their handlers are unable to protect them properly?"

It was the same thing he always said. Delta, Omega and Gamma were already being used frequently by their handlers out there on their test missions. Sigma had just gotten paired, finally, and was scheduled to move out the next morning for thorough testing. Theta had finally been cleared to work with Agent North and Church could barely imagine how that squeamish brat was going to handle getting shot at or worse.

A cold, suffocating sense of agreement settled in his gut, even though he knew that Director had said exactly what he had gauged was the right thing to say to guilt Church. It worked. It always worked.

In the end, there was only one real response.

"No…" Church said, looking down at the tiled floor.

The last time, with Delta getting hurt, or the time before that with Gamma and Wyoming nearly getting caught in Pyongyang… of course it had been his fault. Because he hadn't done enough to get them ready.

"Good," the Director said, his voice effortlessly signaling the end of the conversation. "Get ready to try again."

Rubbing his eyes hard to get the nearly-painful exhaustion and the sense of tearful burning from them, Church said nothing. He waited until they told him to get back up.

He was so, so tired, but they were right.

He had to do this.

By the end of the session—and the Counselor had made a vague noise of contentment when they did another MRI scan on the Freelancer—Church had been so tried, he couldn't get up. He batted away any tech's hands that came near him and opted to wait for a few minutes for the spots to fade. He was sixteen years old; he wasn't a baby. He could handle himself.

"You did well, Alpha," the Director said, in passing, not looking at him. A dismissal. A verbal okay to go ahead and leave.

Church sighed quietly. "Thank you, sir," he said, rubbing his face again.

Fuck it. He was going to bed.

First, he was getting a shower.

He hated using the showers that were attached to the labs, because they were also attached to the workout rooms used by the upper level Freelancers on base. He could handle some of them fine—York and North were only annoying because they tried to talk to him too much. Others, like South, were pains in the ass because they always took pleasure in seeing if they could piss him off.

It was late, so Church had a blind hope that everyone else was either still training or had already gone to bed. He ignored everyone else in the lab (a few lingering techs watched him go, awkward in their aborted attempts to offer him help until he silently flipped them off). In the hallway that led to the washracks, he grabbed a towel from the stack by the door.

Fuck, he was tired. He hoped he wouldn't drop in the shower.

"Hey."

Church flinched, but hid it as he turned his head to look at the red haired woman leaning against the locker room entrance. Carolina had her long hair up again; she had just finished her own training regimen, it seemed. She looked sweaty and tired, but she probably looked better than he did.

Wearing bright green eyes that mirrored his own and half of most of their shared kin, Carolina had gotten over years of awkward interaction with him as she met his gaze boldly.

"Nice work today," she said. She probably meant it. To her, it was reaching out. It had taken her a long time to get to that point.

Unfortunately for her, Church wasn't exactly at that same level himself yet.

"Whatever," he muttered, pushing past her. He didn't bother to wait around for her reaction.

Between her and Eta, Church definitely liked Eta the best of his two sisters.

At least Eta was one of _them_.

Carolina…she wasn't.

She was the Director's legal daughter from his now-dead wife.

The rest of them were _products_.

Scowling as he marched into the washroom, Church only paid minor attention to where he was going. He liked to go to the very last shower stall, away from the doors or anyone else who came in. He was so focused on Carolina—and the bitterness he wasn't sure he liked or not simmering in his chest—that he didn't pay attention to anything else in the wash racks.

That was the main reason he didn't see the person step out of the shower stall in front of him. They collided and Church yelped, snapping back to attention.

The fear of no knowing who he just ran into—_fuck, please don't let it be Sigma, or Omega, or that huge ass mute dude who signed on last month_—dissipated only slightly when he looked up and saw it was a young woman.

She couldn't have been much older than he was. She was dressed, thankfully, in military cargos and a white tank top. Her blond hair was wet and clung to her neck, but Church was immediately drawn to her eyes. They were blazing blue and indignant over being run into.

"Who are you?" he blurted out without thinking.

The blond woman glared down at him. "Move it, pipsqueak," she snapped.

She didn't shove him, but Church still stumbled back into the sinks when she pushed past him. "Hey!"

The woman just marched off, her dark expression contorting an otherwise youthful face. Church could only gape after her swift departure. He had no idea who she was; he had never seen that particular woman on base before. Was she a new recruit? She couldn't have been; newbies didn't have access to those showers.

Unnerved, Church bent down to pick up the towel he had dropped. Whoever she was, she was rude.

"Why are all the women here such bitches?" he complained to no one.

Turning around, he saw Agent South Dakota leaning against a shower stall door a few feet away, her arms crossed against the towel tucked around her. She was smirking, but it wasn't a pleasant gesture.

_Aw, shit._

"Come're, Alpha."

"Um, no, fuck you—_ack_, sorry! Sorry!"

That day hadn't been the worst session he had ever experienced, but it definitely ranked up there on the It Could Have Gone Better list.

**0000**

**Outpost #1 Apartments**

A month after moving in with Tucker and Caboose, Church was still marveling at how much things had changed.

He still roomed with Caboose, who made no clear move to find himself a job or find somewhere else to stay. Church didn't really mind; Caboose was annoying but he was scary enough from the outside that it gave Church a sort of mental comfort to know people thought he was surrounded by tough guys.

Like his boss, Lopez. Lopez looked like he had just gotten out of Puerto Rican jail or something; he didn't even speak English. He was married to Sheila and was the head mechanic at Sheila's Scrap. Church didn't mind the dude and Lopez didn't seem to care too much for him either way. The language barrier was a pain in the ass, but as Grif pointed out wisely, it wasn't like it mattered if all he did was point at what needed to be done.

Grif knew Lopez. Most of Church's new circle of acquaintances at Outpost #1 knew him, since Lopez also worked as their maintenance guy. Man of many talents, then. That only made it more common to see his boss multiple times throughout the week, but Church grew not to mind it.

The familiarity that came with the people of Outpost #1 wasn't the same kind of familiarity Church had grown up with concerning lab workers or agents. Seeing York or North around only meant that they were back from a mission, most likely with his brothers intact, and they were going to be going back out again soon. Most faces at the Project didn't remain there; they were either moved elsewhere or they never came back from their mission. Familiarity was just a prolonged sense of loss in a lot of ways.

But at Outpost #1, the familiarity that came with the Blues and Reds, as Sarge demanded they be called, became a comfort in the back of his mind. They were all crazy. But they were nobodies who had no reason to up and leave, or die, or be transferred to places unknowable.

Donut, the guy who lived downstairs next to Grif and Simmons, was super friendly and lived up to the reputation the other two had told Church about. Donut was always up in everyone's business and was way too perky, but he was a nice guy. Church also liked the fact that Donut seemed to be genuinely becoming friends with Caboose, who equally liked the pink-clad blond.

"Private Buttercrust and I are going to hang out when you are at work tomorrow, Church!" Caboose said, gushing over his bowl of cereal. "He's off from class!"

"Good," Church muttered over a spoonful of his own breakfast.

"Do I even want to know how he earned that nickname? Probably not," Tucker said, sighing dramatically as he put the milk back into the fridge. "I don't care, either way. As long as you're not given free reign over the apartment again when either of us aren't home."

Caboose immediately looked insulted. "I-I did nothing wrong the last time."

"You set my bathroom on _fire_."

"Th-that is not true! It got all burny, all by itself!"

"Bull-shit. You are fucking lucky that Simmons works from home and is willing to be paid in geeky shit to babysit you."

"I do not need a baby-sat! That is horrible to the babies!"

"Oh, my God," Tucker finally said, already reaching his daily limit of Dealing With Caboose. He turned and gave Church _that_ look and tone. "_Church_."

"I'm out," Church said, instead. He grabbed his new backpack and left before Tucker could whine more.

Tucker was really patient, however. He didn't threaten to kick Caboose out (except that one time with the bathroom fire, which Church hadn't really been able to excuse either.) As long as Church paid his part of the rent, Caboose could keep living there in Church's room.

"It's really nice that you're helping Caboose out," Donut said, almost every time he ran into Church downstairs.

Church fidgeted under the attention at first, feeling oddly exposed. "Well, I couldn't just let the kid, you know, run off. He's, um, not really, uh, smart."

"All the more reason it was really nice," Donut said, beaming as he stood outside his apartment in his pink t-shirt and only slightly dark pink shorts. He patted Church on the arm. "He really does like you, too!

"Yeah, he lets me know, a lot," Church said, rubbing the back of his head ruefully. He didn't get it, but Caboose really did seem to look up to him. "I guess he's okay. Even if he is an idiot and manages to get tangled in the shower curtain every fucking morning that I should be able to sleep in."

"Why, that just sounds like a good time, if you ask me!"

"Ugh."

"Donut, stop doing the _thing_," Grif called out from his apartment, which always seemed to be kept open during the day. "You'll freak out the new guy."

"Whaaat?" Donut asked, seemingly unsure of what the issue was. Church took his leave then.

Grif and Simmons were an odd couple—and they were actually a couple, if Tucker's insistence meant anything. They had lived there longer than Tucker had and both seemed rather inseparable. At first, it baffled Church, who thought that maybe it was just his own lack of understanding of relationships that made Grif and Simmons seem, well, opposite of "together."

"Fatass," Simmons would mutter whenever he had to pick up dishes Grif left scattered around.

"Nerd," Grif would say just as nastily whenever Simmons told them to turn the TV down as he sat working on his laptop in the kitchen.

They were always willing to poke fun at their apparent faults, but as time went by and Church spent more time down with them, along with Tucker, for a video game night or a sports game (which Simmons only mocked from a distance), it got a little clearer. They just functioned really well together. It didn't actually matter if Simmons was a nerd to Grif, or if Grif was fat to Simmons. They were just incredibly comfortable with each other.

That was a little endearing to Church, who had never really seen that sort of thing. The only couple he could compare it to had been Carolina and York, and well, he wasn't going to spend his days thinking about either dead Freelancer.

Tucker, being good friends with the Reds, encouraged him to go and hang out with them. Church only went when Tucker was there to be the buffer, but Church was glad it all started to feel normal by the end of his fourth week at Outpost #1.

Normal was good now, because it wasn't painful or scary or filled with uncertainties. It was chaotic and strange and filled with idiots, but it was better.

Normal was better and he enjoyed every bit of it that he could get.

…And then, of course, there was Sarge.

Tucker claimed that the old man didn't have any other name—he was merely Sarge. He probably had legally changed his name to Sarge because of his inability to let go of his probably unimpressive but still traumatizing military experience. Church doubted that, but he did not doubt for a second the warnings that Grif and Tucker both gave to him.

He hadn't seen the notorious "Red" superintendent (though, really, the old man owned the complex, so he was the only real superintendent) until about a week after moving in. It had been a brief exchange, but it did prove Tucker and Grif's warnings that the old man—perpetually wearing a red old-man-sweater and army cargo pants—was off his rocker.

It didn't seem like it was a thing that went away with Sarge, either. It was a perpetual state of confused aggression with the man. Church only tolerated it because the old guy was just a regular human, not a super, and not really an actual threat.

That didn't make encounters with him any less annoying, however.

Standing outside their apartment, with one hand guiding Caboose toward the stairs so he could go chill with Donut and Simmons while both Church and Tucker were at work, Church sighed as he watched the newest drama unfold, courtesy of Sarge's melodrama.

If anything, it was entertaining. At the right time, anyway.

"Sarge, for the last fucking time," Tucker said, sound very near to whining now, "I didn't put that recycling can out in the hallway."

"Oh, and I suppose that just means it magically appeared there through the force of sheer mystical entities that possess the broom closet," Sarge said, word drenched with sarcasm. Tex would have been proud, Church thought absently. "Fairies graced the Outpost with their blessings of recyclable plastics and cardboard!"

"Don't be so harsh, old man, Donut might hear you," Tucker said, unimpressed.

"What about closets?" Donut asked, peeking out from the stairwell, clearly having followed his fellow Reds up to see what the noise was about. Church was successful in holding back his sigh that time. He was quickly adapting.

There was a single box of unclaimed cardboard sitting freely in the middle of Blue floor. Church had seen it the night before, but it didn't seem to belong to his roommates, so he didn't care about it. The next morning, however, had seen the old lady down the hall complain about it. That forced Sarge to march up to Blue level to yell at the residents, and naturally, Tucker seemed to be a good target. Mostly because Tucker never made it easy for Sarge.

"I warned you about him," Grif said, sighing as he slid up next to Church, crossing his arms as if he had just proved his point. He and Simmons had come up to see what was keeping them and even Simmons (who idolized Sarge for some bizarre reason) had to sigh tiredly at the scene.

Church merely scowled as he watched Sarge continue to yell at Tucker, who didn't bat an eyelash over it. "Yeah, you did…"

"I don't want no trouble from you, Blue!" Sarge shouted. He suddenly pointed accusingly at Church, who only stared back in surprise. "I know you youngins' like to mess around with your 4-21s and your Halos and your ping-pong beer taps! I know what devious things your kind likes to bring under decent roofs."

"My kind?" Church repeated, unable not to laugh. "What, the recently employed?

Tucker snorted. "You know, Sarge, you're just describing a weekend when Sister's over at Grif and Simmons'."

"Shaddup," Grif said, grouchy.

"Stay outta this, ponytail!" Sarge yelled.

"Ouch, you got me," Tucker said, holding his hands up dramatically. He turned to the stairs, where thankfully, Mr. Flowers had finally come up. "Cappie, can you please explain to Sarge that there are no fairies in the supply closet and Lopez probably just moved the trash there and didn't move it back."

"_No, no lo hice_," Lopez muttered, stilling standing there behind Sarge. He had been dragged up there too, the poor guy. "_Deja de culpar a los errores del hombre viejo estúpido_."

Flowers chuckled, always personable, as he merely stepped up to grab the offending box of cardboard. Despite being a weirdo, Church had come to understand that Flowers was a hundred percent saner than Sarge was.

"Now, now, boys," the Blue superintendent began, "let's just get this bucket out of the way and just try to remember to use the handy recycling chart that Franklin wrote up for you all last year."

Donut beamed. "Why, thanks. I'm glad somebody appreciated my hard work."

"Don't encourage them, you backwater hippie!" Sarge said angrily at the other superintendent. "Dangnabbit, why did I ever hire you? !"

"Now, Sarge, you really shouldn't be yelling so much. It's not good for the body or the soul," Flowers said, a little concerned. "Are you taking the herbal stress relievers I gave you last month?"

"Ooh, herbal stress relievers," Tucker whispered, grinning madly as he and Grif exchanged a _look _as Sarge promptly told Flowers where to put his stress relieving gifts.

Church sighed and hefted his backpack over his shoulder. "Yeah, I'm just gonna go to work now."

"Yeah, have fun," Simmons muttered, shaking his head as he led Caboose with him downstairs.

Every so often, they'd have a game night. Church had never been invited by agents to play video games or anything in the common rooms. It wasn't like he would have gone. One time, Omega tried to get him to go with him and Sigma to one of those events, likely with the intent on causing mayhem. Church wisely declined and hid with Delta instead, just in case they tried to force him to go.

Tucker never forced him to go anywhere or do anything, but Church had felt bad about refusing invitations at first. He felt weird that Simmons and Grif would invite him over, when they barely knew him, but he slowly understood that they were just nice guys.

Social anxiety aside, he didn't do well with people. It was easy enough to chill with the Reds, however; they didn't care if he talked or didn't talk and Grif only cared if he knew how to play card games correctly. It took him a few days to learn Poker, but by the third time they did it, he could actively participate. It was surprisingly nice, even if Tucker kept cheating and Caboose (who was not allowed to play) somehow broke the table.

One night, while they waited for Grif to find his playing cards that he somehow lost (_again_, Simmons said bitterly), Church was introduced to another somewhat regular face in the Grif-Simmons' apartment: Grif's younger sister.

The only thing they had in common was the tan skin and the dark hair. She was taller than her brother and much louder. Church had been shocked by how short her clothing all seemed to be and was wary of her getting too close. She was oddly reminiscent of South, only Kaikaina Grif was only an idiot and not a scary, bitchy soldier.

While watching Tucker absently play a Mario game on the TV while they waited for the Poker game to be set up, Church leaned in closer to his friend as he watched Grif's sister mess around with Simmons, making the lanky ginger blush furiously as he tried to find the cards.

"Is that the girl you knocked up?" Church asked, peering at the woman.

Tucker barely glanced at him, his attention mostly on the game. "Huh? Oh, yeah, that's Sister. Or Kaikaina. It's easier to call her Sister."

"I thought you said her brother tried to kill you," Church said, eyes narrowed as he remembered the conversation they had had years ago. "How come you live a floor above them?"

Tucker had a kid—a son. When Church had heard about it three years ago, he had spent most of the time laughing at his friend's apparent misfortune instead of paying attention to a lot of the details. It had been a great distraction, in a somewhat sadistic way, to try to offer advice to his friend's woes instead of the other way around. After the kid was born, he had heard less and less of it, so it had been a little bit of a surprise to find pictures of the young boy in the apartment.

Tucker shrugged, diplomatic. "Grif can be cool. Once everything calmed down and my mom agreed to help out with Junior, he didn't try to threaten me anymore. I guess he realized it was done and over anyway," he said. He then smiled. "Oh, shit yeah! You wanna meet Junior? We missed Thanksgiving, but my mom usually has us all over for Christmas dinner."

Church squirmed under the big sweater Donut had given him, after noticing he didn't have a lot of clothing. "Ugh. I hate kids."

"Weren't you like the youngest at your house, though?" Tucker asked, confused.

He _had_ been the youngest and Theta was only a kid in personality. "Shut up," Church muttered, eying the Reds and Caboose carefully before deciding they hadn't heard. "Kids are just gross."

"They're alright," Tucker said, surprisingly magnanimous. "Until I get a real job, Junior'll be living with mom. He's almost two now. He's saying all kinds of crazy shit."

"Like babbling?"

"More like honking and weird alien noises, but he's got my dashing good looks, so who needs words?"

Church snorted. "Brilliant."

"Hey, you two, are you playing or what?" Grif called from the table, finally having found the playing cards.

"Yeah, yeah, we're coming," Tucker said, finally turning the console off. He got up, grabbing his beer. "You in, Church?"

"Yeah," Church said, shaking his head fondly. "I'll be right there."

Outpost #1—and all of its strange and unnaturally welcoming occupants—were slowly becoming home.

It was mostly unfortunate that he assumed he could get used to it.

**0000**

**Mother of Invention, Seven Years Ago**

The best part about Agent Texas joining Project Freelancer was the fact that she had stolen Carolina's thunder and, oh, how she had stolen it.

Church had watched from the sidelines (because it was way safer there than getting involved) as his older half-sister struggled to compete with the seemingly unstoppable Agent Texas. Texas had quickly earned everyone's fear or adoration. Even South, who never shut the fuck up on her good days, kept her distance.

Nobody willingly fucked around with Texas. At least not more than once.

Maybe it was petty, but watching Carolina get beat again in the practice ring gave Church an odd satisfaction. Before, it seemed like Carolina was this god-like figure around base, who could do no wrong. Now, that compliment belonged to the blond war machine in the black armor.

They had recently been given their uniforms—the agents had, anyway. Carolina was in aqua that didn't really compliment her hair, York was some dusty yellow, North and South had purple, and C.T. had picked a brown color. Church was wary of Maine before, but his uniform made him even more alien and scary. They all had helmets now, to protect their identifies or something stupid like that (as if they had to worry about any arch-nemeses; any enemies they faced would be dead if they ever dared to show up twice.) Maine's made him look inhuman.

Texas, though, she had gone classy. Black armor chest piece, armor on her shoulders, elbows and thighs, black steel boots, Kevlar from head to toe—she looked like a real killer. With her helmet on, the only color on her was the dark gold visor that shown back her opponent's fearful expression before she wiped the floor with them.

Church admired it from a distance—the aesthetics of it, of course. It fit her perfectly. The fact that she didn't have to bulk up like C.T. or South did made her seem like she was too cocky or had vulnerabilities in the places she hadn't covered up.

Anyone who was familiar with Texas, of course, knew that that was foolish to think that way. Texas' strength was only one of her powers.

"Of course the bitch dual-wields," South griped in the locker room. York muttered something in vague agreement and North merely sighed as he dried off his hair.

Church thought it was fascinating, but he didn't get too close to examine Tex's other power. The Director never made him work with her, so he was glad to just speculate from a distance. It was safer there.

That's why he felt a little more than exposed the one evening when she caught him watching her match with Wyoming and Gamma.

Meta kids didn't normally get put on the field for practice with other agents, but as production sped up, the Director encouraged it. Church hadn't been actively watching the practices before, but when he heard his siblings were involved with them, that dragged him out to watch from the sidelines.

That night, it was a small show. Wyoming was built for long-distance and assassination. He didn't stand much of a chance against Texas, who was a front liner, pure and simple. Gamma made things more interesting, but even still, it was no question that by the end of the short match, Texas stood victorious, with Gamma crouched over the downed Wyoming.

_He should be glad she didn't break Wyoming's nose_, Church thought absently as he watched his older brother help his handler up. Tex had kept her hits light. He knew that only because he had seen her really fight Carolina once and, man, it was easy to tell when Texas was holding back now in comparison.

Texas offered a helping hand, which Wyoming refused, of course. Texas didn't show any insult and turned to grab her duffle bag she had left near the seating on the wall. Church hadn't expected her to leave that quickly and froze as she faced him suddenly.

He felt a chill go down his back when she stood there, watching him watch her.

_Awkward._ Church blinked several times before forcing himself off the bench and he none-too-gracefully sped for the doors.

He didn't have a curfew if all he did was observe the matches after dinner. The Counselor encouraged him observing his hard work in action, or whatever bullshit logic the psychiatrist spouted off. Church didn't care about that. He either went because he was bored or because it involved one of his siblings. That was it.

Most of the soldiers or agents on base lived in the barracks. It was way more of a military base on that side of the Mother of Invention. Delta and Theta had moved there with their handlers, which had been somewhat disappointing, since that meant they were farther away from the "main house."

The "house" wasn't a house at all. It was just a more private and restricted side of the base, where most of the officers or higher ups stayed when they visited. Church, naturally, spent most of his off time there, since he wasn't allowed to go all over the base without a babysitter ("handlers," as the Counselor liked to call them, but honestly, it was all the same.) They claimed it was for his own protection (which was hard to argue against when there were monsters like Omega or jerks like South prowling around), but it never failed to make him feel isolated.

Still, that night, he felt a little relieved that he could escape upstairs to the private quarters without fear of Texas following him to cause a scene. If she was pissed that he had been watching or that he had run off before she could confront him, well, Church could only hope she'd forget by the time they ran into each other downstairs later on that week.

The elevator opened with a low chime and an _Arriving at Level B, Private Personnel Quarter_s, from FILSS. Sighing, Church had no reason to rush to his room. He didn't know if Tucker was going to be online yet. His new online friend had been a great distraction recently, but he had a life of his own. Not even seventeen year old got stuck helping the military build super-supers, Church thought darkly.

He stretched, yawned, and turned to the left to go to his room. He could at least send the other teen an email. It was late, anyway. He could use the extra sleep—

Behind him, the only other elevator next to the one he had just stepped out of opened with a quiet sound.

Church froze in mid-stretch.

…No way.

Church began to walk at a steady pace away from the elevators, even as his heart began to race. He heard FILSS chime out the floor name again.

There was no way that Texas had followed him up. That was crazy, even for—

"Hey."

Church's heart did a spasm and he increased his speed as he walked down the hallway. He forced himself to keep to a walk.

He was almost to his room. Just a few more feet and then she couldn't follow him. Maybe. No body except the Director or the Counselor or maybe Delta would dare to just barge in there. She had to know—right? That she couldn't just beat him up. Right—?

"Hey!" Texas shouted, making him flinch. She sounded annoyed now. "You deaf, kid?"

_Fuuuuck._

Annoyed Texas was an incredibly bad thing to have directed his way. Church grit his teeth and tried not to panic. There were cameras, like, everywhere.

She wouldn't do something stupid like hit him, right?

That would be too much for even the Director to allow from his favorite agent. Right?

"What do you want?" Church asked, turning around to look at her.

He almost squeaked when he realized she had marched up right behind him. She loomed over him. Without her helmet, she still looked dangerous. Her long blond hair was tied up in a knotty bun at the base of her skull. She looked tired, but that didn't stop her eyes from blazing.

"This your room?" she asked, jerking her head at the door he had almost gotten safely inside.

Church had to stare at her blankly for two seconds to actually understand her.

"Uh, yes?" he said, looking to the side, where his bedroom door stood closed. "Why—?"

He had been punched by South a few times (never enough to bruise; even she knew that would be too far) and Omega had enjoyed quite a few years of inflicting almost-physical terror on him until the Counselor had finally realized what had been going on and kept them separate. Mostly, people knew to keep their hands off the Alpha or they'd face severe disciplinary measures. It had been the one rule of Freelancer that Church had been actually glad to have around.

Apparently, Texas hadn't learned or cared about the no-touch rule.

She grabbed him by his shirt, rather than his neck, so that had been a positive sign. It still wasn't pleasant to be hauled straight off his feet and then pushed through the bedroom door—when had she opened it?—and then—

Tex had him against the wall, which shook from the door being slammed shut. The lights went on automatically as he had programmed them to, but there weren't cameras in his room. Delta had assured him of that several times. Tex had either guessed that or had found out or didn't care about the risks.

She was too busy brutally claiming Church's lips with her own.

He had never been kissed, not like that. Theta had given him quick, affectionate pecks on the cheek sometimes, when they had been younger, but that had been it.

What Tex was doing to his lips was, by far, not an affectionate peck. Yeah, there were definitely teeth involved. Not a peck.

It was like she was fighting, only the only opponent there was Church's mouth, and fuck, he wasn't exactly prepared for that sort of assault. Tex was a force of nature and that proved it. He had no idea that it meant having someone's tongue shoved into his mouth, practically down his throat. He somehow didn't gag, and that was mostly due to the fact every other sense he had was on _fire_.

She smelled like sweat and the rough matting of the training room floor.

"That your first kiss, Len-nerd?" she whispered, breath hot on his face, which was already burning.

"N-ngh—no-o—," he stammered. _Holy fucking shit._ "The fuck—? !"

Tex kissed him again, but didn't linger than long, her lips drawing out his with lazy intent. "I saw you watching me practice," she said, still speaking lowly, like sharing a secret.

Church's brain was literally about to explode. "I wasn't—" he began, voice hitting a rather embarrassing pitch.

Tex was practically pinning him to the wall. Church gulped when her felt her hand slide under his shirt.

"I'm in a good mood," she said, clearly and infuriatingly amused. She braced her arms near his head, draping her head towards his, speaking into the curve of his ear. "It's up to you if you wanna share it. I could always go find somebody else. That blondie with the cat t-shirt who just came in last week looked like he could use the chance to unwind."

Church felt like he was burning up. He stared at her and tried to find something coherent to say. "I…"

"You what?" Texas asked, taunting.

For whatever reason, that made him angry.

And for whatever reason, the best response his brain came up with was to grab her face and slam it into his.

He had no experience with kissing or making out or whatever it was called. He had seen maybe three love making scenes in films he had seen with the other soldiers, who had all cheered or made lewd comments that never really made sense to him.

Thankfully, he was beginning to realize that it wasn't like a detailed process Delta might have liked. Church was moving in a way that he wasn't objectively planning; his body did its own thing. His lips moved on their own, with his teeth clacking into Tex's until she drowned him out.

She pulled back suddenly, both of them breathing heavily.

"You call that a kiss?" she asked, eyes bright like stars.

"Shut up," Church hissed, grabbing the back of her head, digging his fingers into her scalp. She only grinned against his lips.

It wasn't in his hands for long. She was the one who pushed them back towards the bed. Church grunted when she was suddenly straddling him, pressing down into his hips in a way that made the fire in his face spread all over. Tex pulled away from the kiss, which Church was grateful for; he fought to catch his breath.

"You got protection?" she asked briskly, as if they were on a timed schedule.

His brain wasn't exactly working on full thrusters at that point. "Uh—"

It didn't do much good for his pride when she rolled her eyes. "Ugh. Naturally." She set to work unbuckling her military fatigues. "Just don't cum inside."

"Inside—?" he asked, before being rudely interrupted when Tex shoved her hand down his pants. "_Jesusfuckingchrist_—!"

Tex was a beautiful woman. Even Church knew that. He had seen plenty of guys gawking after her out of armor, at least, for the first few days. People got scared of her quick, but Church knew that that wouldn't keep most hot-blooded males away. Maybe she hadn't hated her so badly, South would have been gawking, too. He wasn't going to deny having thought about her, oh, once or twice.

Church knew that arguing at that point was stupid, for two reasons. The first was that Tex seemed pretty intent on getting what she wanted when she wanted it.

The second was that he would likely not get this sort of chance again.

So, he took it.

He was almost eighteen. He knew what sex was and what it should have felt like. It was hard to tell, then, if the intensity of it all was just because it was Texas—because Texas was intense. Texas was _fire_ all over. Her touch made it difficult to breathe when she yanked his shirt off and he barely realized he was supposed to help her with hers. He was clumsy—fingers getting tangled in the clasp of her bra, fumbling to untangle his feet as she kicked off her boots and he barely kicked his sneakers off before she tugged his sweatpants down to his knees.

If it weren't for the fact that it wasn't Gamma's style, Church would have imagined it was some sort of mean mind game prank.

But it wasn't.

It was real.

It was real enough that every bit of him was burning hot and electric flashes. It was different with another person. It was different and scarier and better in every capacity.

Texas dragged out his name over his bared neck and he could only answer a shuddered gasp.

Church had no idea how long they fucked. It really wasn't anything drawn out, like he had always seen in movies. He had never expected it to be like that; the sarcastic comments from York or other agents in passing confirmed movies were all fake and fluff. _Fucking was fucking_, as South had once eloquently told the entire mess hall while Connie buried her face into her hand, embarrassed.

Still.

Lying there, on his own bed and thoroughly exhausted from something that had nothing to do with the Project for once, Church felt like it been a lot longer than it had been. It was stranger to realize that it had actually happened. Getting laid, as Tucker would crudely put it, had certainly not been on his game plan for the evening. It did not match up to any expectations of reality that he had for himself at all, actually.

It hadn't been making love, because Tex was anything but gentle and Church was relatively certain love was a myth, but it still…

Turning his head to see Tex rolling over to the side, draping herself in a strange sort of modesty with his bed sheet, Church found it difficult to say much.

Tex had ended up on her side, facing him with her head tucked into her arm. She was playing with the edge of the sheet that just barely hid most of her breasts. Church stared at her face, unsure what came next.

"That was your first time, wasn't it?" she eventually asked, at complete ease as she stared at him.

Church scowled. "Shut up."

That earned him an eyebrow arch. "It wasn't terrible, if that's any consolation."

"Fuck off, bitch," he muttered into the crook of his arm as he raised it over his eyes.

Despite that, Tex only snorted in amusement and stilled, apparently not in a hurry to get up. Church enjoyed that moment of peace and quiet, still reeling from all angles.

Well, he thought, it could have been worse.

They had lain there for a few more minutes. Church heard his own breathing even out, like he wasn't really there doing the breathing himself. Tex barely made any sound when she didn't want to, he realized. It was a little unnerving, but laying there next to her, both of them naked his own bed, made it strangely…easier to be that close to her. It sure made her seem more human than ever before to him.

"I remember when I first saw you, in the labs," Tex said, breaking the silence. She sounded thoughtful. "I thought, what the fuck are they doing with a scrawny little shit like you? I thought the Director was all about winners."

Church turned his head to stare at her, unsure of what she was getting at. Tex stared back, blond hair hanging down in strands in front of her face. She stared at him with those expectant blue eyes.

"But I guess I was wrong," she said, shrugging, looking away.

"What that fuck is that supposed to mean?" Church asked, his own eyes narrowed.

"Nothing." Tex suddenly sat up, displacing the blanket. "I got to go."

Church felt a twinge of something in his gut, but he forced himself to close his eyes again. "Whatever."

People left. That's what everyone did. Sometimes, they came back, but there were no constants. Delta and Theta had moved away and he barely saw them anymore. He never wanted to see Omega or Sigma, but even Gamma and the twins were kept at a distance. He never had the same handler twice in a row. Carolina sure as fuck never lingered.

Of course, Tex had to go.

He didn't watch her grab her shirt and throw it on, not bothering with her bra. She shook the bed as she slipped back into her fatigues and Church idly turned his head as she stood. He saw a flash of a tattoo at the base of her spine. He wasn't sure what it had been. Maybe a star.

"Hey, Leonard," Tex said, grabbing her left boot and shoving her foot into it.

"What?"

"Wanna date?"

Church stared at the ceiling, blinked twice very slowly, before looking back at her.

"What?" he asked, mostly because he was certain he had misheard her.

Tex shot him a look over her shoulder, obviously amused. "Wanna go exclusive?" she asked, mockingly slow.

Church stared at her.

And stared at her.

"Uh," he said, unintelligently, and that was about as far as he got.

"Don't break your brain," Tex said, both teasing and annoyed. She stood up and gave him a strange look. Her eyes were sharper. "Promise next time's with me?"

What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Church almost laughed. He almost wanted to laugh at the most dangerous agent at Freelancer because she was saying shit that made no sense.

Exclusive? That was absolutely hilarious.

"Oh, sure," he said, gesturing out in front of him. "I'll have to postpone the other ten chicks lining up outside my door, but I'm sure they can wait. You know how it is."

Tex's eyes narrowed, but her smirk remained. "You'll make a girl jealous, Leonard," she said.

For a killing machine, she sure liked to tease. It was like Texas liked making jokes. Abruptly, Church wondered if he was the only person at the Project who knew about that quirk.

He stared as she inspected herself in the mirror over his dresser, quickly redoing her ponytail. She shoved her bra into one of the pockets of her pants.

"Why don't you ever call me Alpha, like everyone else does?" he asked, unable to shake that from his thoughts. It stood out after spending most of his day correcting nearly anyone who spoke to him that wasn't the Director.

"That's not your name, right?" Tex asked, shrugging. "Why would I call you by something that's not your name? Besides to call you a dumbass, I mean."

Maybe it was the blunt way she said it. Maybe it was the shrugging away the awkward question that, no matter how hard he tried to hide it, was laced with bitterness. Maybe it was the fact that she was the first person he had ever spoken to candidly on base for more than a few seconds and it didn't change how she acted towards him at all.

It could have also been that she was the second person he had met in the last year that had looked at him like a person rather than the Alpha. And Tucker, had they been able to speak face to face, sure as hell wouldn't look at him like _that_.

Church lay on the bed as he watched Texas head for the door. She didn't seem ashamed at all, walking away, and she didn't seem like she was running either. He imagined Texas didn't run from much.

"Good night, Leonard," Tex said at the door, just before she opened it.

He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. "Good night, Texas," he said.

"Allison," she said, looking over her shoulder once to look at him.

Her name.

It took Church a second to reply.

"Good night, Allison," he said, glad he could say it with a steady voice that time.

She just stared at him and then—she left. She closed the door behind her.

It wasn't strange to Church that they never did do it again or speak much afterwards. It could have been deliberate by higher forces at work or just a coincidence.

Texas was always out there, on the field or in training. Church was put on an increasing number of sessions as the Project grew. He never worked with her. Of course, it was a one-time thing. She never once approached him again and he never knew where to find her.

When Tucker asked him, as a joke, if he had never been with a girl, Church had said yes, but under Tucker's incredulous questioning, Church kept it at "just once."

By the time Texas disappeared and went rogue, "just once" really was what it was.

But he never forgot about it.

**0000**

**Outpost #1 Apartments**

Since he wasn't in school and he was the new guy, there weren't a lot of reasons to keep Church off the evening crew at _Sheila's_. It was nice that he could sleep in most days, but he hated Thursday into Friday, since he was out late and had to be up early the next day. He was grateful for the job, but man, he wasn't used to such a strange time schedule.

Back at Freelancer, it was all laid out according to a strict schedule that never changed, he told Tucker, who mocked him when he complained about having to be up at strange hours.

"Welcome to the working world, dude," Tucker said, grinning around an apple. It was funny, since he had put up such a fight about Church buying fruit; Tucker's appetite and offered menus were terrifying to Church, who had grown up being told he'd wither and die if he didn't each enough vegetables and protein.

"Shut up, asshole, I've been working since I was three," Church snapped back. He grabbed the last apple before Tucker could claim it. "It's just annoying that it's not, you know, organized."

He didn't complain about the weird scheduling to Sheila, since he was grateful to have a job at all. She was nice, and while a little sarcastic and impossible to understand, Lopez could be nice, too. Church decided he could suck it up and deal with Thursdays and Fridays.

It could have been so much worse than having to be up earlier than expected for work, Church admitted to himself grimly.

Still, it sucked. He didn't get out until eleven and had to walk back, since the bus timing was weird, too. He didn't like wasting his money on convenience food, but it had become a habit to grab a to-go box of something almost-warm from the one shop about three blocks from home. That made it almost midnight before he finally stepped through the alcove of Outpost #1.

Shivering under his too-thin jacket, Church was grateful that Flowers had managed to convince Sarge to turn the heat on in the main entrance. The hippie didn't like wasting fuel either, but he was sensitive to the tenant's needs. Almost too much so.

To his surprise, Flowers was still at the office. It looked like he was locking up and he immediately beamed upon seeing Church walking in.

"Boy, you're late coming home today, Leonard!" the older man said, locking the office door.

Church blinked. The enthusiasm and openness always threw him for some reason. "Huh? Oh, yeah, it's late. I had to get dinner," he said, unnecessarily holding up his bagged meal.

"Not working too hard, I hope," Flowers said, chuckling. He shook his head fondly. "You young guys—you gotta enjoy life! Working away the best years of your life is a sad thought, son."

"Well…gotta pay rent somehow," Church said, shrugging.

That made Flowers smile even more, almost in a proud way. "That is a very responsible way to look at things, Leonard," he said. He reached out and patted Church's shoulder. "You're a good kid, taking care of Mikey and helping Lavernius with rent the way you are."

Church wasn't sure how to respond to that. "Uhh, thanks, Mr. Flowers."

"Oh, Leonard, please, call me Cappie," Flowers said, laughing. "Or Butch. Whatever makes you feel more comfortable."

"Uhhh, okay." Man, he was a nice guy. It was so weird. Church tried to smile back, knowing he was being rude just standing there. "Thanks…Cappie."

That name was good enough for Tucker to use, so it was good enough for him. Flowers nodded, pleased. "You go on and get some rest, son," he said, gesturing towards the elevator, which was thankfully working again.

"Right. You too, uh, sir," Church said, waving awkwardly as Flowers headed for the main doors, to head to his own home. "Good night."

"Sweet dreams!" Flowers called, before disappearing into the December night.

The people at Outpost #1 and in Blood Gulch in general were all weird, loud and nosy. But they were also nice. Church hadn't been sure what to do with the nice part of things at first.

Now…he was starting to realize he could appreciate it. Nice things were often taken away from him growing up. Tucker had been a rare treat that hadn't been threatened too often. They could take away his computer or his books or even his sleep sometimes, when they really wanted to be cruel, but now…

Church finally felt like he could relax and enjoy things. Between a meal he bought with money he had earned himself and a room of an apartment he was now renting fairly with his friends… it was new, strange, but nice.

Smiling to himself as he headed to the third floor, Church felt immensely grateful and happy. Those moments didn't come often, but he took them as they did.

This was his now. This life.

Opening the door of his apartment, with his very own key, Church decided he was going to eat his dinner in bed, watching a TV show on Tucker's fancy little tablet his mother had bought him, and go to bed. Tucker wasn't home; he had gone to his mother's for his monthly trip to see Junior. Caboose had gone downstairs to sleep over at Donut's, since Church had been at work and no one else could watch the accident-prone kid.

A bit gleeful to have the place to himself, Church locked up and made a beeline for the hallway, sidestepping the ugly fake Christmas tree Tucker insisted on putting up last week. For the first time in awhile, being alone seemed to be an exciting prospect, just because he wasn't going to stay alone for long. It made no sense, but he didn't question it. He was learning to just embrace all the quirks that made up his—

The moment his hand touched the doorknob of his room and opened it a fraction, he heard the floor creak behind him.

Church, turning his head to look at the source of the noise, hadn't even considered the worst-case scenario. It was highly embarrassing in hindsight.

"Caboose, is that—oh, _FUCK_!"

His strangled scream came out in one shrill burst of sound when he realized that the person behind him was _not_ in fact Caboose and it wasn't Tucker. It was a tall person decked out in black body armor and an impassive black helmet that only shone back his own startled expression in its dark glass.

He had no time to react further than that. The person shoved him into his room. There was no light anywhere except from the window and the hallway, so he wound up tripping gracelessly over the edge of Caboose's half-deflated mattress. He dropped his bag of food and yelled out when the unknown person was immediately on him, kicking the door shut with a slam.

"Fuck—!"

Church knew he should have done more than yelp when he felt two powerful hands grab onto his own—and then flip him face first into his mattress.

Tucker might have laughed, but it wasn't funny. Church's heart had already started to pound and his adrenaline was rushing full speed ahead. Now, the utter terror of the moment was hitting him like a brick through glass.

No no no no, they weren't supposed to find him yet—it was too soon—he had only been there a month—where was Tucker where was Caboose—

Pinning him with the sort of ease that belonged to a super who knew their own strength and knew it well, his attacker kept him pinned there for several long seconds as his initial struggles ceased.

It was then that he realized that his attacker was a woman.

"Well, well," she purred out of her mask's radio, right into his ear. "Hullo there, Alpha."

_Shit shit shit shit_

It took everything in Church to push the immediate panic attack to the side. He focused on that tiny glimmer of indignant anger—at Freelancer, at the Director, at the bitch holding him down on his own bed—and yanked it front and center.

_Better angry than weak—_

"If the Director sent you, go _fuck_ yourself," he said, cold and fiery all over. He glared at the fabric print of the bed sheet, wishing nothing more than for the ability to ignite the whole room with that cold fire. "And if the Director didn't send you, you can also go fuck your—"

The body pressing him down didn't move, but he tensed up in wariness when he heard (and felt) a very heavy sigh.

"Leonard, you fucking idiot," his attacker said, as if personally pained by his apparent ignorance.

That, against his better judgment, was enough to distract him. "Huh?"

Nobody called him that.

Nobody.

Except…

"How do…who are you?" he asked, hating how his voice cracked. His grip over his anger slipped, but at least it hadn't gone back into panic yet. It was solidly in bewilderment now.

The woman leaned down further, effortlessly keeping him pinned. "You really don't remember me?" she asked, mockingly.

"Uhhh, no? I can't even see your face, lady," Church snapped. He paused. "You are a lady, right?"

That earned him a little more pressure on his arms and a faint warning growl. "You are _such_ an idiot, Church."

And then she got off of him.

Church didn't move for a few seconds after she backed off, just in case it had been a trick. Slowly, he rolled over onto his back, bringing his legs up in a meek form of defense. It wasn't needed, since he saw the woman standing a foot away from where he was, still and unaggressive in the middle of the carpet.

She had taken off her helmet and let it drop to the floor with a dull thud.

Her hair—blond or something light colored—was a tangled mess from where the light outside was hitting it. Her face was narrow and somehow strikingly plain when it was as impassive as that.

Blazing blue eyes that were bright even in the dark bedroom.

Church's mouth had dropped open and it was difficult to close it again. He blinked several times, but the vision in front of him didn't change.

"_Allison_?" he asked, his mind straining as much as his eyes were.

Allison—Agent Texas—crossed her arms against her black armored chest. "Bingo," she drawled. Mocking, condescending—but also tinged with a faint trace of affection that threw Church the most.

He was stunned.

But he was also increasingly terrified.

"Wha…" he tried to say. He stumbled over the words as he sat up properly, staring up at her with open shock. "What are you doing here?"

Texas wasn't just a bad memory. She was a Freelancer.

The _best_ Freelancer.

The Director's favorite.

"Not glad to see me?" Tex asked.

He backed up further on the bed, until he hit the wall. He swallowed hard.

"You're not…" he began, trying to find his voice. "You're not here because of…?"

He couldn't see her face very well, but he could make out the faint gesture of a grimace twist over her lips.

"Am I here because of that man?" Allison asked, spitting out the word 'man' with incredible venom attached to it. "_Fuck_ no. The Director has no idea I'm here, though that's probably going to change very soon."

"What?" he asked, bewildered. "Why are you here? Wha—what are you doing? !"

He ended up squeaking rather unflatteringly when Tex stepped closer and grabbed his ankle. She yanked him back towards her—which wasn't hard, considering her strength was unmatched, even compared to Carolina's—and she loomed over him.

"Has anyone else approached you here?" she asked, eyes narrowed, suddenly without teasing.

"Huh? ! No? !" Church exclaimed. He was terrified to touch her, but he still put his arms up to try to push her chest away from him. "Get off—"

Tex snorted, either at his panic or his attempt to push her off. "Is that anyway to talk to your girlfriend? It's been years."

_What the fuck?_ Church thought shrilly. "Um, since when the fuck were we—? !"

Suddenly, he stopped struggling when he abruptly realized what she meant.

"Oh…" he said. He gawked at her, at first with confusion and then annoyance. "Are you kidding me? We were—I was seventeen!"

"And I was eighteen," she said, words overly sweet, in her mocking way that had always made Church smirk whenever it hadn't been directed at him. Now, it was just making him uneasy. "Eighteen year olds take promises very seriously, Leonard."

Church grimaced. "Don't…call me that." It was only marginally better than being called Alpha. "And come on, really? We're really…_dating_?"

He was expecting it to be a joke, because Tex seemed to enjoy cruel jokes.

Instead, she shrugged, settling back to sit next to his legs instead of crouching over him. "Sure. Why not?"

"It's been seven years," Church snapped. "Didn't you, like, I don't know, find someone who wasn't surrounded by seriously fucked up familial bullshit?"

"No, it just wasn't the same without the bullshit," Tex said, sarcastic. She shrugged again. "And no, I've never met anyone else."

"I find that hard to believe."

"What, are you implying that you've cheated on me?"

Church sputtered. "Wha—no! Allison, I haven't been out of my house until…just a month ago," he said. He hesitated. "That one time with you, I…"

He had long accepted it as a fluke, as a one-time event of his youth. It had been an experience he appreciated as it was: a learning experience of something that any guy that age should have had a chance at having. If it hadn't been for Tex, well, he might never have had a closer encounter with a woman than South's fist to his face on occasion.

Tex had been different in other ways, however.

Staring up at her, where she sat waiting and mildly impatient, Church took a steadying breath.

"I was never able to really keep you out of my head, you know," he said, his face burning. "Whenever the idea of, you know, a relationship came up."

Tex snorted. "And yet you forgot who I was. Nice."

"I mean!" Church began. Man, how did she manage to make him feel like such an ass so easily? "I didn't realize it was _you_ here, okay? ! You up and leave me years ago and then what, I'm supposed to be ready for you to show up and—and do whatever the fuck it is your doing? Why _are_ you here?!"

"I'm here to keep you safe," Tex replied. She looked toward the window, serious again. "The Director already sent spies after you. I don't know who yet, but if you think you're alone in this building, you're wrong."

That was enough to bring him down from annoyed to alarmed again.

"H-uh?" he asked. She looked back at him and Church shook his head. "No…that's not… If he knew I was here, he'd have already grabbed me."

There was no way that the Director knew where he was. He would have sent someone to take Church back. Or do something worse, like terrorize his neighbors or hurt Tucker or…

"Of course he knows you're here, dumbass," Tex said, curtly. "You think breaking out of Sidewinder and getting on a train is enough to hide from him? Spare me."

Even while cruelly stated, Tex had a point. Church still didn't understand.

"B-but… why?" he asked.

"Why what?"

"Is he just…waiting?" he asked, daring to sit up properly to face her. He was finally taller than her after a few more years of growing, but just by an inch. "I thought he'd try to force me back."

"And then what? You break out again?" Tex asked. She shook her head. "Maybe he's trying to see if this'll work the same as you are."

Church scowled. "He's not that kind."

"He isn't. But I didn't mean that way," Tex said. She gestured vaguely. "I mean, he might be trying to see if he can benefit from you getting real world exposure. Maybe he's waiting for you to fail and come crawling back. I don't know."

He didn't know if it was worse that he could totally see that happening.

"That's so fucked up," Church muttered, rubbing his face with both hands. His head was starting to hurt.

Tex seemed unimpressed. "He is. I'd have thought you would have noticed it sooner."

Church glared at her. "Shut up," he said, annoyed again. "You don't know anything about me or my life. You don't know anything about him like I do."

"I don't," Tex said, so matter-of-factly, it made him stop.

Stunned, Church stared up at her and realized that she wasn't mocking him. She wasn't teasing. She looked terribly serious. It was…disturbing.

"Allison?" he asked after that beat of silence carried on for just a little too long.

Tex suddenly leaned closer. She traced a single gloved finger across his jacket where his collarbone was, her eyes going slightly to the side. She didn't meet his confused gaze.

"I'm so sorry, Leonard," she said, so much quieter than he expected from her. "I wish I had been there sooner for you. I wish… you could have gotten out earlier than this."

For whatever reason, hearing that? Was a million times worse than hearing her yell or make fun of him or even hitting him.

Church swallowed against the lump in his throat.

"It's…fine," he said, trying to be neutral about it.

It wasn't her fault. Most of the agents—even Carolina—they had been kept in the dark about the augmentation process. They all knew it sucked for him, but they never seemed to understand. The Director had always made sure Church never complained in front of anybody. They made it seem like the agents worked just as hard as Church did and Church shouldn't complain, since he wasn't the one going out there, getting shot at or attacked.

He was just a tool and… tools did their jobs without complaint.

It wasn't Tex's fault. It was the Director's. It was entirely his, because true to his nature, the Director didn't give anyone control in the Project. That just made it simple that all the blame should fall to him.

Tex looked back at him. Her eyes were pinched. "No, it's not," she said, disagreeing. "We failed you, Alpha."

_Fuck._ "D-don't call me that," he said, squirming. He then paused. "And wait, who's _we_?"

"All of us at the Project," Tex said. She sighed quietly. "You have more people trying to help you than you might think."

The fuck he did. Not even Delta or Theta—they had left him behind. Even if everyone there beside the Director and Counselor had been kept in the dark about where the Meta kids came from or what they had been doing to Church as the Alpha—no one had cared about him suffering. Carolina had watched it the whole time as they grew up and she still—she still pushed him away.

Who was left? The supposedly-dead Freelancers who had gone rogue after Tex left? That almost made Church laugh. The idea of York or North teaming up with Texas, of all Freelancers, was entirely laughable.

"I don't get it," he said, gripping the side of his head in frustration. "You're part of the Project. You—you were Agent Texas, for crying out loud!"

"Was. Still am. Doesn't matter." Tex stood up, tall and once again seemingly untouchable as she blended into the shadowed room. "Now I'm rogue. I'm not alone, either."

Church blinked several times. "I-I don't…_Jesus_." He moved over to the edge of the bed, not daring to stand up as well. "Who else?"

He couldn't picture anyone else working with Tex to bring the Director down, mainly because only Tex seemed powerful enough to do it. Even with her, it seemed unlikely to work. The others had reasons to fear or hate her. She had caused York to lose his one eye. Both he and North had been friends with Carolina, too; they hadn't associated with Tex at the compound much, out of loyalty to Carolina.

"Can't tell you, in case they're monitoring you," Tex said, shaking her head. "If anything, they'll probably be just as watchful of us as we are of them, so it's going to be a very interesting adjustment period."

What did that mean? It made sense that, if the Director did know where he was, that there would be eyes on him already. The urge to panic over that huge what-if was overwhelming. He did his best to keep it together. Tex wasn't panicking. He tried to keep that at the forefront of his mind.

Church grimaced. "That…does not inspire confidence."

Tex made a small sound, like a laugh, and Church could see her smirking. "You should be confident. I'm on your side, remember?" she asked, all teasing again.

For whatever reason, that was…comforting.

At least some things were the same, he thought, numb.

Church jumped a little when Tex moved. She grabbed her helmet from the floor where she had dropped it. She turned back to the window.

She never was good at saying goodbye before rushing off.

"Wait," he said, reaching out before thinking better of it. He stared at her at the window, her pausing just in front of it. "Will you…be around?"

Having the knowledge Texas might or might not be creeping outside his apartment would probably be better than merely guessing about where she was.

"Sure," Tex said, vague again. She shrugged. "Gotta keep an eye on you."

Church stood up, feeling a little alarmed at the sight of her leaving. "Why? I don't get it," he said, desperate. Why was she risking so much to help him—?

"Because I guess maybe I feel like I owe you," Tex said, looking at the window. Her tone had become more even.

"For _what_?" he asked, bewildered.

"Don't worry about it," she said, curt. She glanced back at him, helmet held between both hands. "Go to sleep. You have work early tomorrow, don't you?"

"Tex—," he tried, standing.

She stepped toward and grabbed the front of his shirt to draw him right up to her face. Church didn't fight the kiss, because from experience, he knew it would be pointless. Tex kissed like she was aiming to win a fight. Even years later, Church was unsurprised by it—and its familiarity.

Her hands were gloved, but the way she gripped the back of his head and then slid her finger tips down his neck made it seem like she was electrifying him. Church honestly wouldn't put it past her to have some sort of gift like that hidden away. Tex liked her aces.

Pulling back, Tex stared into his eyes. He really couldn't get over how blue they were.

Maybe he had forgotten her as a possibility in his life, but no… he most definitely hadn't forgotten her.

"See you around, Leonard," she said, lips brushing against his. It sent tingles across his skin.

Church didn't have anything to say to that.

Tex turned back around, put her helmet on, and it once again made her into the blank, unknowable agent who had terrorized Freelancer for years now. Church stood back and watched as she slid onto the windowsill and then dropped down, out of sight. She never made a sound.

He didn't bother going over to the window to look. It was freezing, having the window open, but for a solid minute, he just stared at the darkness beyond.

Tex was out there, apparently with her own kind of team, and she wasn't far away.

But she had also confirmed that others were out there, waiting, just the same.

He could barely force himself to finally shut the window. He didn't lock it—he didn't see a point. Instead, he stumbled back from the window and sat back on the bed.

Then, he flopped back onto the bedspread and covered his face with both hands.

As if he wouldn't worry _now_.

_God damn it._

.**  
**

* * *

**End "Part 2."**

* * *

.

In the next and REAL final part of "Outpost #1 Apartments," Church and Tucker have a discussion and we get a glimpse of what Church saw during the Break In at Project Freelancer. Oh, yeah, and his power.

**A/Ns**:  
-Yes, Tex has two powers. One is obviously super strength. "Dual wielding," as South calls it, is not unheard of for supers, just uncommon. Especially to the power level that Tex possesses.  
-Yes, technically Church and Carolina are biological half-siblings. Well, sort of. Let's just say Carolina is at least half-siblings with the other fragments cast…  
-Also, that was the first hetero-romance scene I've ever written. Kudos to tumblr for pointing out that Tex totally called Leonard "Len-nerd" at least once.  
-Tex/Church is one of the most fucked up canon pairings I've ever really liked, but man, do I love that pairing. At least in this AU, it's a little less fucked up than in canon. Which is strange to say…  
-Fuck yeah Tex would dominate in the bedroom, just like she doms every where else.  
-What do these "Meta Children" do for their handlers? What does Church do? Stay tuned. All will be explained.  
-Yes, we'll see more of the other Reds and Blues, who has powers, what their role in this whole thing is, etc., as we move along in the series.  
-Either Eta or Iota were implied to be a "sister" among the AIs in season 10, by Theta. I randomly chose Eta to be the female of the two.  
-FlowEERRRSSS


End file.
